I'll Be Right Here
by gymjunky71
Summary: While inspiring the rebels against the Capitol, Katniss nurses Peeta back to health. It's not going to be easy. Set in Mockingjay. No Trackerjack venom. Katniss POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Peeta Mellark was finally rescued from the Capitol's clutches. They tortured him and starved him. He arrived in extremely poor health and from my perspective, he's not getting any better. I would know, as I visit him every chance I get. Most people would get frustrated at the lack of improvement if they are visiting such an ill person for the twelfth time.

I hesitate before opening his hospital door, spotting one of his doctors whom I like best down the hall. I then try to take a peek at Peeta through the window ... but the curtains are drawn, blocking my view. The nurses think that they can avoid my criticism if I can't see Peeta so conveniently. But, I am not so easily won. So, I hurry down the corridor in the doctor's direction.

He does not have a curtain to block my attack.

"How is he not improving?" I ask without a greeting. "It's been almost a month since Peeta got here. I expected -"

"We're doctors, not miracle workers. Ms. Everdeen, he has been through a traumatic experience _and_ put through two Games." he furrowed his brows and I feel patronized.

"I know. But ... okay. What are his stats?" I ask.

"He is about five-foot-nine. At seventeen, he should weigh between 144 and 176 pounds." The doctor tells me. "Since he arrived, he's stubbornly stayed mere ounces over 118. _Technically_ not emaciated."

I strongly disagree having seen Peeta's sunken cheeks, enlarge eyes, jutting clavicles, and boney wrists. I suspect that he looks much worse beneath the gray District Thirteen uniform and layers of blankets.

I lick my dry lips, "Is there anything I can do to help him?"

I have asked this question before and I expect the same answer: leave him to the professionals and be patient. But the doctor seems to feel my earnestness and believes it.

"My doctor-side is telling me to keep him hooked up for fluids and to not exert himself." says the doctor. "My _human_ -side," - the corners of my lips almost tug up into a smirk at that -,"tells me he needs to see familiar faces regularly. Rekindle his spirits. I try tell my coworkers: a healthy mind is one of the most powerful tools for recovery." The doctor sighs, "Mr. Mellark spends much of his time awake. He has trouble sleeping. His body thinks it's still in danger."

I set my teeth and look over my shoulder at his door, "Can _I_ bring his dinner to him tonight?"

I have not seen Peeta eat in my past visits. I am always was ushered out for meal times. I weigh more than I ever have in my life. For once, I can afford to miss my dinner. If only I would be allowed.

"Sure. Just tell the kitchen worker when they come that I gave the you permission, okay?" consents the doctor.

I do smile, mostly out of surprise.

The doctor departs in rather a hurry to see to the other patients. I think about dropping in to say 'hello' to Finnick but I hear the trolley clacking down the corridor. I tell the person pushing it what the doctor told me to say and they let me take the containers off the trolley. I open Peeta's door using my elbow and shoulder. I see that he has his back to the door and before I can greet him, he starts talking.

"I told the nurse to tell the _chef_ that I'm not hungry today," he snarled through forced politeness.

' _Today_ '? As in he has not had a bite to eat all day? I pause and wait till he twists around. When he does, he looks so embarrassed.

"Oh. I thought you were someone else." Peeta apologizes. "They all blend together, wearing the same clothes all the time."

"I know. Means we have to look people in the eye to recognize them more often, huh?" I try to be cheerful, which catches him off guard. "I thought I'd change up the monotony of your life. Bring you your dinner."

"Thank you, Katniss ...," Peeta cringes as though in pain, "But, I can't eating anything tonight. I'm sorry. But you can stay and we can talk ... if you'd like to."

I am not about to give-up, even if his blue eyes remind me so much of a fawn abandoned in a cave. Lost and terrified.

I raise a brow, "Peeta, they strictly ration food to each person in District Thirteen. You should take advantage of it while they're giving you extra portions. You know, before they decide you're a lost cause."

"Oh, no." Peeta smiles then his face falls; I notice his face doesn't get any plumper while smiling and my heart sinks for him. "I just don't feel hungry like I used to, Katniss. Every bite is like trying to clear a clogged pipe. Sand-papery. I feel empty but full at the same time."

I hate what I'm hearing, "Well, I'm going to set it here with me."

He moves his feet so that I can sit at the foot of his hospital bed. I sigh while I examine him critically with just my eyes. His cuts have been cleaned and his scabs have darkened. The bruises are barely fading because of his lack of nutrition. There's just not enough calories in his system to make him pretty again.

Anything at all is being utilized to keep his major organs going. Looking into his eyes, I can see the intangible damage. Wounds far from the reach of doctors ... far away from me. I glance away to set the container between us. I lift off the lid, revealing the food underneath it.

"Wait. Let me guess," Peeta covered his eyes with one boney hand. "One bowl of nuts and a fruit smoothie."

I grin once he drops his hand because he's correct. It's not genuine because I am not satisfied with Peeta's daily dinner. But, I am not a nurse nor a doctor. If Coin wants me to keep doing her precious propos, she must make sure that Peeta recovers. I know it won't help my anxiety, but Peeta is in the best _available_ hands.

I don't believe I'm wrong for being impatient about it. My mind shows me a heartbreaking scenario of a tube being inserted through his nose down to his stomach just to keep him alive, feeding him mechanically and against his will. I will not let him go through that. I must lead him back to his will to live.

"Peeta, you might feel better once you gain some weight back." I suggest carefully. "What Snow did to you ... weakening your immune system, making your bones fragile. You'll get sick faster than the rest of us -"

"Do you think I don't know that? I was there, Katniss." Peeta rubs his face, which looks pretty damn emaciated to me, "... I hate the way you're looking at me."

I am having a hard time pretending to be patient with him. My determination must have shown in hardness of my gray eyes. It's not in my nature to behave sensitively. Scowling is my default expression.

"How am I looking at you, Peeta?" I ask, attempting to soften my features.

"Like I'm failing you. Disappointing you." Peeta replies, his voice tremulous. "I'm trying, Katniss. Don't you see that?"

 _No_ , I say inside my mind.

"Yes." I lie for his benefit. I shift closer to him on the bed, "May I take a sip?"

Peeta waves his skeletal hand, "Knock yourself out."

I scoff and take up his smoothie. I suspect that he enjoys watching me eat. He likes to see me being healthy - well, healthier than I've ever been. The smoothie tastes sugary and sweet. I set the smoothie down on his bedside table to be closer to him.

"You don't know what you're missing." I say.

I turn my gaze down, feeling sick to my stomach. It is torture being unable to do anything to make him heal faster. I bite my lips together and turn my head away from him to squeeze my eyes shut, gripping the mattress beneath me. After a few seconds, I hear a gulping sort of noise. I turn back and, to my astonishment, Peeta is drinking the smoothie.

My smile this time is _very_ genuine. I watch his Adam's apple bounce while he drinks it. I can see the veins of his neck and his clavicles at this angle. But I ignore all of that because Peeta is eating. Finally.

For me.

When he takes it away from his lips, half of it is gone. Peeta wipes his lips with the napkin and he shivers, slightly out of breath. I wonder if saying ' _good job_ ' would sound too patronizing. Instead, I reach out to hold his free hand. Grasping at this glimmer of hope he showed me.

He must have understood how badly I wanted to see him eat. If I am his motivation, so be it.

"It's good, isn't it?" I ask, grinning broadly.

"Delicious. A bit cold, though." Peeta wrinkles his nose and gives me a smile.

I swear I saw some color return to his cheeks and lips. But he's shivering now. Peeta shifts nearer to me and I catch him hiding how much pain it caused him with that simple movement I would take for granted.

He hisses, clenching his teeth before explaining, " _Argh_. I get sore when I stay in one position for a short while. I can't sleep. I'm exhausted, Katniss."

I scoot closer so that he won't have to exert himself anymore, reminding myself of what the doctor had told me just minutes ago. Peeta rubs his hand against his chest and feels at his protruding collar bones. He is breathing too heavily for my liking.

"Thank you for coming tonight." Peeta says a little breathlessly.

"I'm sorry I don't come every night," I apologize, hoping I wasn't blushing or something stupid like that. "Thirteen is strict about curfews. I'm spread thinner than butter."

Peeta frowns, "I'm sorry that they're controlling you like this. Again."

"They're different than the Capitol. I became the Mockingjay so that they would rescue you, Peeta." I tell him. "Trust me. This was entirely voluntary. My choice. Not Coin's."

Peeta still looks unconvinced, "It's my fault."

I roll my eyes, "Peeta ...," I tuck a curtain of my long black hair behind my ear, "You don't want to contest me about feeling guilty, okay?"

Peeta seems too tired to argue with me tonight. He pinches up a nut from the container. The _crunch_ it made between his teeth was just as glorious for me as the sound of him sucking down the smoothie.

"Do you get lonely down here?" I ask.

Peeta shrugged, "How can I be? I am watched 'round the clock. Poked and prodded, day and night. Threatened to have a feeding tube installed if I don't shape up. I never get a moment of peace."

I did not know that the doctors were already planning to hook Peeta up to a feeding tube. He must be worse off than his doctor told me. I was lied to. I had believed that doctor. I needed to. I swallow hard and scratch at my arm.

"I share a room with Prim and my mom. Oh, and Buttercup." I tell him. "I sometimes go hunting with Gale. They give us a patch of ground that's safe. We bring back whatever we kill to the kitchens."

"I like that." Peeta smiled softly, closing his eyes for the moment. "Imagining you outside. The sun haloing your hair, tanning your skin. Running through the woods as silent as a cat."

"See? Coin isn't like Snow." I say. "You could die, Peeta." I tell him quietly after along moment, almost a whisper. My eyes glaze over, "I know how much you weigh. It's too low. You look worse than the poorest in District Twelve."

"Still handsome, though. Right?" He smiled broadly.

I sigh, "I'm serious, Peeta. Don't leave me in this world alone."

I take his hands together and bring them up to my lips. These creative, talented hands that can so effortlessly bring a canvas to life. I kiss his sharp knuckles. They are so cold, a shiver rolls down my spine. Peeta closes his eyes and bows his head, furrowing his brows, ashy blonde curls hanging limply and casting his boney face in shadow.

"Maybe you can convince Coin to let us outside? Have a picnic or something?" Peeta suggest hopefully, lifting his eyes. "I haven't been outside since ... you know ..."

I nod my forehead against his fingers, "I can do that."

I lift my head and see him yawn. The dark circles around his yellowed eyes droop. I look at his prosthetic leg clearly distinguishable beneath the blankets. In his condition, he has no business being in the woods. But the doctor did tell me that his heart needs to be happy in order to recover. I'll do what I can to make his request possible.

"But they need to see you put in effort. More of it." I add. "May I come visit you tomorrow night?"

"You are always welcome here, Katniss. My door is never closed to you." Peeta responds earnestly.

I smile, scrunching up my nose, "I'll see you tomorrow, Peeta."

I step off the bed and lean in to embrace him. My arms about his shoulders, I see the opening of the slit in the back of his grey hospital gown. His spine is just as visible as a anatomy map in Prim's textbook. I can see his ribs as well as the back of his hips. I must have been lingering too long.

Peeta pushes us apart, eyeing me with suspicion. I smile as though I saw nothing and I make my exit, waving for good measure. He is worse than I could have ever come up with in my nightmares. He could die before Coin could make a decision on my request once I've given it. Peeta may never see the sun again.

I am halfway down the corridor, nearing the service elevator, when a tear escapes my grasp. When I smack it away, another just takes its place. I stamp myself to a stop and aim a kick at the nearest wall, suddenly sobbing. I beat my fists there, squeezing my eyes shut.

" _Peeta_ ... _No_ ... _Peeta_ ... _Oh_ ..." I whimper thickly.

I slide down the wall with my shoulder, curling up at the bottom. Curling into my despair.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

I hurriedly get a hold of myself, drying my eyes on my sleeves and wiping my nose on the inside of my collar. I hear people coming my way, their booted footfalls echoing up the corridor. I get to my feet and scramble to the service elevator. I push the button that takes me all the way up to the top floor and close myself in my room. Buttercup stirs awake but, upon realizing its not Prim who had returned, he curls up into a tighter ball.

"Why do you sleep all day?" I demand of the ugly cat. "You do nothing!"

The exhaustion from sobbing puts me in a fog all the way through dinner to when it's time for bed. I have enough sense to change into my sleeping dress. For some reason, Prim decides to share my bed instead of our mothers. I can't believe how exhausted and numb I am. I drift off to sleep with my back to Prim.

 _I see Peeta crouched in a corner, holding his hand up to filter the light blinding him. He is filthy, covered in welts, dried blood, and sweat. He looks more skeletal because of his unkemptness. I rush to him._

 _"Peeta, I'm right here. I'm going to get you out."_

 _Peeta does not react to my voice. I know I'm speaking clearly enough. He just squints right through me, the light._

 _"Can't you see me?"_ _I whisper._

 _We both flinch at the sound of a door opening and closing._

 _"Katniss? Is that you?"_ _Peeta sounds terrified._

 _A whip slices across Peeta's back, making him scream in agony. He's knocked on his front, gagging. He lifts his head and his eyes lock with mine. He reaches out his trembling hand._

 _Peeta whimpers,_ _"Katniss ... help me!"_

 _I grab his hand but he can't feel me. He can't see me. I'm just a light. Then I smell the white roses and a cold shiver runs through my whole body._

 _"Katniss left you in that arena."_ _says the unmistakable voice of President Snow._ _"She's thousands of miles away. You think she cares about you? She never loved you, Mr. Mellark. You were just a pawn in her Games."_

 _I can't see Snow. All I can hear is his terrible voice saying those lies._

 _"Peeta, you know that's not true!"_ _I sob, dropping to my knees and cupping his face._ _"I'm right here!"_

 _"I told Katniss to convince me that she loved you. Convince all of Panem."_ _Snow tells Peeta._ _"She barely even tried, Mr. Mellark."_

 _Peeta snarls menacingly at the president. He almost sounds like an angry cougar. His teeth are bared and his eyes are flashing viciously._

 _"I understand."_ _mocks Snow, unimpressed._ _"Any clever man would need to see proof to reconsider something he's convinced himself to be true."_

 _A photo drops in front of Peeta. He pinches it up and I see through the paper that it's a photo of Gale kissing me in District 12. Peeta's face crumbles. The whip is rising again behind Peeta, whose whole focus is on the photo._

 _"PEETA, WATCH OUT!"_ _I scream, jumping in front of Peeta to take the blow._

I'm abruptly awakened by Prim shaking me. I see that I had not said anything while I was asleep. Sometimes I do when I have nightmares. It's hard to convince myself that it was merely a nightmare. It had felt so real.

I remember that Prim said President Snow would do anything to Peeta that would break me. She knows full well who the nightmare was about.

"You were having a nightmare." she tells me; I nod. "I thought they would stop, now that Gale and the others rescued Peeta from the Capitol."

"I thought so, too. At least, I _hoped_ they would stop." I whisper so as not to wake our mother. "If Peeta could just get back to the way he used to be - better than he used to be - maybe I'll get better, too. Prim, why is it taking so long?"

Prim has been dreaming of becoming a doctor and is finally getting training to be a nurse. She knows more about sickness and health than I could ever stomach. She's the one who helped our mother with ill patients while I couldn't handle it. Prim is considering me critically, I can tell. She's weighing how much more bad news I can take.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

"Katniss ... Peeta's been deteriorating for a long period of time. His body is not equipped to handle a large amount at one time. They've got to work him up to it, step by step." explains Prim. "The fruit smoothie is not only simple for him to digest, but it's giving him vitamin C so he won't develop Scurvy."

I furrow my brows, "Does he have that?"

"You get it if you have a vitamin C deficiency. Right now, the nurses are trying to prevent _many_ complications for Peeta. Making him feel safe and secure is the hardest." Prim squeezed my hand, "He's going to be alright, Katniss. We've stabilized him."

I nuzzle my head against the pillow, "Now that I have him back, Prim ... I don't think I'd survive if I lost him forever."

Prim holds my hand, "Just try to sleep, okay?"

I know I won't be falling back asleep any time soon. Buttercup walks heavily across my legs and snuggles between me and Prim, purring. I can only wait for my eyelids to grow heavy again and try to shake the nightmare away.

* * *

I rouse awake to my mother's touch. We change into our daytime uniforms. My mother and sister wear their nurse training uniforms. I braid my hair at the table before we walk down to breakfast together. I pull up my sleeve for my new schedule to be tattooed.

We retrieve our breakfasts and pick a table together. Gale joins us. He's a large young man, at least six feet tall, who looks like he could be related to me. More so than Prim and my own mother. Our relationship, once very close, has changed in many ways since we came to District 13.

He finishes his breakfast in rather a hurry and departs with barely a 'hello' or 'see you later, Catnip'. Even if my romantic feelings for him have simmered away, I still miss his closeness. Maybe I'm only longing for a time that may never come again. I just can't take his hostility 24/7. My thoughts stray to Peeta and the nightmare I had.

I close my eyes, remembering Peeta's blood splatter the camera lense after he warned us about the incoming Capitol bombers. I take a sip from my class to distract me. I listen to my mother and Prim have small talk. Though their banter has drawn me back from the nightmare and memory, I still think of Peeta. I hope that I got through to him last night, that he would focus on gaining weight back.

I debate over when I should ask President Coin about Peeta's picnic idea. I figure that I should talk it over with his medical team first. I know that starvation has made him susceptible to infection and illness. Finally, I join in my mother and Prim's idle conversation.

"A doctor told me it was just as important to keep his spirits high as it was to keep his body from deteriorating." I recall to Prim.

"Oh, I know who you're talking about. I like him! He's nice." Prim grins.

I mutilate my sausage link while I think of ways to make Peeta feel whole again. His favorite color is sunset orange. He's a talented artist ... _Oh_! I look to my mother, a question on my lips. She looks at me expectantly. But, I hesitate.

Supplies are strictly monitored. Likely, it'll be against the rules to give a critical patient any. It might be considered a waste. I don't think the doctor would confiscate them from Peeta if he really wants to keep his patients happy. Delly Cartwright, Peeta's friend from District 12, would put a stop to it if I can't be there. I know where the pencils and paper are stored.

"Never mind," I turn back to my breakfast.

I catch Prim's eye and give her a mischievous smile I can't help. We go our separate ways. As I'm climbing the stairs, I spot Finnick. He's around twenty-five years old and is a very handsome man. And he knows it.

Unfortunately, so did President Snow. He was forced into the Captiol's sex slave industry on pain of death. Finnick is tall, athletic, with a chiseled face, tanned skin (though that's faded considerably since moving to District 13), bronze hair, and sea-green eyes.

"Hey, Odair!" I greet him.

He looks around in alarm but settles down when he sees its only me.

"Katniss! Haven't seen you around lately." He jokes, doubling over to exaggerate our height difference.

I hug him anyway. He was there to listen to me after Peeta's second interview. He can relate to me more than Gale can now. Besides, Gale is too busy building weapons of mass destruction with Beetee to have time to listen to my despair over another man.

"Where's Annie?" I ask.

Annie Cresta is Finnick's fiance, a girl who was rescued from the Capitol along with Peeta and Johanna Mason. Normally, they are linked by the hand as if they were cuffed to each other.

Finnick points his elbow over his shoulder, "I'm off to see her now. You can come with me if you want."

"I can't." I groan, holding up my forearm. "I have to go to training."

Finnick checks his own schedule and gives me a sly smile, shushing me with a finger to his lips. He sneaks off in the wrong direction of training. I wish to follow him but if I'm going to District 2, I do need to get in fighting shape. After dinner, I'll smuggle in Peeta's gift.

* * *

I sneak away from dinner to the supply closet that I hide in most often. I consider a box of pencils, wondering how Peeta could sharpen them. Then I spot a black ballpoint pen abandoned on the floor. I scribble it on my hand to check if it still had ink. I neatly roll about thirty sheets of white paper and hide it in the waistband of my uniform.

While I'm heading for Peeta's hospital room, I faintly catch the sound of the favorite doctor talking around a corner down the corridor. I figure I should ask him about Peeta going outside someday soon. As I get closer, I overhear what he's instructing another worker.

"Increase his fluids. Bring him a cup of warm salt water. He'll likely still need the slippery-elm tea before lights-out. He reopened those wounds. If he can't speak, we'll have to go with a lidocaine hydrochloride gargle."

I wince, feeling sorry for whoever the doctor is talking about. I touch the doctor's elbow after the worker departs, walking down the corridor towards Peeta's room.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something." I begin.

"Ask away, Ms. Everdeen." yawns the doctor.

He looks ten times more tired than he did merely a night ago. I don't share Prim's longing for getting into the medical industry. This guy looks like he needs his own bed.

"About Peeta," I continue, ignoring the 'of course' the doctor's eyebrows said. "I wonder if being underground like this might be slowing his progress."

The doctor clears his throat, "He doesn't have anywhere else to go."

"Well, President Coin has given me permission to hunt above ground." I tell him. "And I was hoping I could take Peeta with me. Not to hunt, of course. But to let him get some sun, breathe fresh air. Rekindle his spirits."

The doctor props himself up against the wall, "Mr. Mellark has just set himself back about two weeks of recovery. I don't know if it is wise to let him outside where there can still be fumes from the recent attack."

"'Set himself back'?" I repeat with narrowed eyes. "What do you mean?"

The doctor sighs and waves his hand, "I'll let him tell you. I need to have something to eat. You're here to visit him, aren't you?"

I watch the doctor depart wearily down the hallway away from me. When I defrost from those ominous three words, I dart to Peeta's hospital room. I'm about to panic when I see that his room his empty. Then I startle at the sound of a toilet flushing. A door on the opposite side of the room opens and Peeta exits it with a nurse following behind him.

I sigh in relief. But when he turns his face, I see a fresh scrape across Peeta's left cheekbone and a cut on his lip. The nurse departs from the room, telling Peeta to press a button if he needs to use the toilet again.

"What happened?" I ask breathlessly, rushing to him.

Peeta lets me examine his wounds, "I went crazy. I had to be restrained."

His voice sounds very different from the night before. It sounds croaky, like he has a sore throat.

" _They_ did this to you?" I ask, furious. "Peeta, tell me!"

Peeta shakes his head, "They _had_ to, Katniss. I'd have hurt somebody. They say it was a panic attack. I kept thrashing on the floor while they held me down."

He's sagging between his walking stick and the IV stand. I'm having a hard time buying the idea that Peeta had as much strength as he's implying to require so much force from the security. But, the medical workers are not cruel. Perhaps I should take to heart that Peeta had that much fight left in him.

Peeta gestures at something on his bed, "See that button? If I go crazy again, I need you to click that. Help will come."

That scrape and cut make me reluctant to press such a button. I don't want to bring that down on Peeta again.

I sigh, "What scared you so badly?"

Peeta shakes his head again, "It's nothing."

I gesture at the scrape, " _That_ is not 'nothing', Peeta! You can tell me anything. You know that. I'm the last person who should be judging anyone, least of all you."

Peeta limps over to his bed and I push along his IV stand for him. He gives me a quiet 'thank you' and he eases himself down carefully, trembling all over until he's relaxed. I can tell from his odd movements that he has injured his elbows and knee. His prosthetic leg appears to be damaged by the _clicking_ sound it made, likely during the struggle. I lift that leg onto the bed for him and tuck him in.

He folds his hands over his stomach, gazing up at me weakly. I sink down to my spot at the end of his bed, my braid draping over my shoulder.

"Ever since Gale and the others rescued me, I'm convinced any moment could be my last. And I don't want it spent fighting you." Peeta shares with me. "Loving you would be much wiser."

My lips do an embarrassing twitch sort of thing. Peeta is so open about his feelings towards me. I'm not so open. I express myself more through action than words. I'm convinced that I can't explain my thoughts without sounding pathetic or desperate.

I recall what Finnick said to me during the air raid drill. While the Capitol attacked District 13, he said he knew that I loved Peeta when he hit the force field in our second Games. That our romance was not merely an act to win over support and sponsors. I look at Peeta now and I know that Finnick is right. I just can't get the words out.

It's clear by Peeta's expression that he's pleased enough with my wordless reaction. We finally break our long silent gaze. I look down at my hands.

"I don't understand why you don't just stuff your face." I say, changing the subject back to him. "Remember when we were first reaped? We ate so much we felt sick." I look at Peeta, "They kept food from you, Peeta -"

"They didn't." says Peeta.

I pause, "... What? Of course they did."

"No." Peeta insists darkly. "They gave me food, alright. I just never knew which plate was poisoned, making me so sick I'd rather be dead."

Peeta looked this way after being sick and too scared to eat. That's how he lost so much weight. Puking his insides out, writhing in agony. I imagine him clutching his stomach on a cold floor, vomit dribbled on his chin and clothes. Straining his face.

Blue eyes red and puffy from crying. No wonder the sight of food does not please him. I appreciate it more that he drank the smoothie and forced down a few nuts last night.

My face falls, "Peeta ..."

"That's what I panicked about." Peeta continues, sighing tiredly. "I thought the soup tasted funny and my heart just started pounding out of nowhere. Like I couldn't catch my breath. I thought I was dying. A nurse caught me with my fingers down my throat, doubled over the toilet. He tried to stop me but when I fought him off, he called for backup. Next thing I know, I'm beating my head against the floor with a knee in my back, begging for my life."

I finally say, "You never told me that they poisoned you. I thought they ..."

This was worse than withholding food from Peeta. I now understand why his voice sounds rougher.

"I was trying to forget about it." Peeta excuses. "Like it never happened."

I hug him, tucking his head by mine and I stroke his waves.

"It did happen." I say. "But it will never again, Peeta."

"Some part of me knows that. The other part just keeps saying 'What if, Peeta?' 'What if you're not really free?' 'What if that's not really Katniss?' 'You're just dreaming'. 'What if'. It's irrational, I know."

I shake my head, "I get it, Peeta. But, you've got to fight those thoughts. Did you tell the doctors that Snow poisoned you?"

Peeta nods, "That's why they feed me soups and smoothies all the time. My throat is still healing. They say I nearly lost my tooth enamel."

I scoot closer to him on the bed. We couldn't get any closer than we are now unless I laid down beside him. I glance at the open spot beside him. When I get up to draw the curtains closed, he questions me.

I return to the bed and say, "Scoot, you."

Peeta makes room for me and I lay down beside him. I show him the pearl he gave me on the shore. I keep it in my pocket. It doesn't make sense that he's so comfortable and inviting with me. Laying down, there is a wheeze to his breathing. I worry he's falling ill.

"They hurt you so badly, Peeta." I say quietly, my voice cracking. "I hate them. I'm going to kill Snow. Coin promised me."

Peeta nestles his head into his pillow, "I'm safe now. I'm with you."

If he just had a panic attack, truly he must not be feeling so safe.

I whisper, "Are you angry with me for leaving you in the arena?"

"... Which time?" Peeta teases, narrowing his eyes playfully.

He's lucky that he's 'nearly' emaciated or I would've shoved him.

"Shut-up. Seriously. I've replayed that moment in my head ever since." My eyes don't leave his, pleading for him to understand. "When I'm awake and asleep. Everyday wishing it had been me -"

"Stop that." Peeta tells me fiercely, gripping my hand.

"Peeta, I can't." I say, my lip trembling and I drop my head in defeat to the tears. "It's true."

A sob escapes my control. One choked, pitiful sob.

Peeta tries to catch my eye, "Hey, hey. Don't cry, Katniss. I saw the footage. I saw them take you up into the hovercraft. You couldn't lift a finger."

I dry my eyes and nose on my sleeve, batting my tears away. Admitting this to Peeta was right. He must know that I would trade places with him if Snow had offered. If Snow did not have so much fun torturing Peeta to punish me. He continues to shush me gently, stroking my hair like he did in our cave in the first Games.

Comforting _me_. As I'm snuggling deeper into his bed, the pen jabs at my side. I had forgotten about my gift to him. The revelation about the Capitol's torture method, infecting Peeta with terror and mistrust, had wiped it clean from my mind.

"Ow!" I hiss, flinching away.

Peeta's alert and moves from me hurriedly, "What happened? Did I hurt you?"

He's confused by my smile. I'm now excited to give it to him.

"No." I shake my head, giggling as I would with Prim, " _I_ hurt myself on your present."

Peeta raised one brow, "You brought me a present? I thought my iron leg pinched you or something."

I sit up to give him the pen and the roll of paper, which has been folded under my weight.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I can get you some more paper -"

"No! This is wonderful!" Peeta exclaims, almost too heartily so I suspect he's overacting for my benefit; his raspy voice cracks a lot. "I can't believe it!"

"Really?" I offer again, "It's no problem."

"If you get in trouble for stealing, it'll be my problem." Peeta assures me, flattening the creases in the paper. "You have no idea how happy this makes me."

He looks at me with such warmth I won't let myself believe he's acting. I see a light sparkle in his hopeless eyes. Maybe he's not acting at all. Maybe I really _did_ make him this happy.

"I'm glad you like it," I breathe, locking my eyes with his.

"I'll draw something for you." he promises me, smiling warmly.

I lean over him, propping myself up on my hands, lowering my lids. Peeta glances between my eyes and my gaped lips. Our lips meet and I taste the mint of toothpaste. But I smell the lingering acidity of vomit mixed with the soap from his hair. I dip my chin up and down, pressing firmer to his lips.

Gradually, I sink down so that I'm laying on my front, stretching to keep our lips lathering each other. He gives a moan, one of longing. He cups the back of my head with his hand. I lost track of time as we laid together like this. I imagine that we're somewhere far away from District 13.

That we have a luxurious cabin to ourselves in the mountains. Instead of a bed, we're laying on a soft thick blanket out on our master balcony, under the stars. I smell hot chocolate and fresh bread. I run my hands from his temple, through his wavy hair. Massage his scalp.

In his arms, there was no war. I open my eyes and I'm yanked back to reality. The reality of Peeta's hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. But, I do accept something. Maybe, just maybe ... no.

Definitely.

I love Peeta Mellark.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Was love supposed to make you feel weightless? It scares me, this warmth and security. I'm so used to having these things yanked from my clawing fingers. I try to recover the weightiness of uncertainty but I see Peeta's face in my mind's eye and I'm floating back up to the clouds again. Kissing Peeta without coercion or ultereor motive was ... happy.

I could really pay attention to his technique and the feel of his skin against mine. His face beaming at me whenever I pulled away for a new or better angle. I felt so peaceful that I fell asleep. When I awoke, I found Peeta sitting off the side of his bed with his pad of paper and pen. I wonder what he might be illustrating.

 _His abuse dealt by the Capitol?_

 _More memories from our two Games?_

 _His missing/dead older brothers and parents?_

I just doubted that he has any hope left inside him to draw anything like a sunset. Anything happy. Curiosity was getting the better of me.

I stir and he told me, "Don't move. I'm almost done."

Confused by my drowsiness, I didn't question his odd response. I settled back down, feeling half-awake. It took me a second to realize that I had no memory of what I'd dreamt about. With Peeta by my side, the nightmares were kept at bay. When he unveils his creation for me, I should not have felt so surprised.

I propped myself up on my elbow for a better look. It was a sketch of me sleeping. How did he manage to create such lifelike shadows and contouring of my bone structure with a mere pen? The details are breathtaking. He made me look beautiful.

My scars, sun burnt skin, and hair damaged by acid was totally absent. Just an innocent seventeen year old Katniss Everdeen without a care in the world. Hair long, straight, and raven. Glowing olive skin, indicated by the light shadow by the pen. My eyes flick from his to the sketch and back.

"So ... do you like it?" Peeta asked me softly.

The last time he showed me his art, I hated what he depicted. They were superb paintings. However, they were memories from our first Games. This ... This was different. New. Even though he drew me healthy and strong like my prep team paints me for Propos, it somehow feels different with Peeta.

I covered my mouth with my hand, "Peeta ... I can't find the words."

I really can't even at the best of times. He had rendered me speechless.

"Is it a _bad_ word?" He cringed cute-fully.

"Definitely not." I assured him.

He beamed, "That's good enough for me."

I smile while remembering his smile and I wonder if its fixed to my face while I walk to my family's compartment. My muscles are so unaccustomed to such an expression. I wonder if I look insane. District 13 is empty but for the night duty guards I pass. Gale is thankfully not among them.

They see the direction I'm headed in and don't say a word. But, they follow to make sure I make it there. The items I brought back with me from District 12 helped give the illusion of 'home' in our third bunker. A framed photo of my parents' wedding and the medical and edible plants journal Peeta helped me fill was set on top of our dresser. Buttercup is napping on top of it, Prim's blue ribbon clearly visible against his coat.

Beside that journal is Cinna's sketchbook bound in black leather. My game bag is hanging of the bed frame. There are ceramic jars and glass bottles from our Victors Village kitchen. My father's game jacket hangs off a chair, where my mother is seated to read a book. Prim has fallen asleep on their bed with Buttercup curled up between her legs.

"How is Peeta?" My mother asks, closing the book with her finger marking the place she left and setting the flashlight near Prim's feet.

This has to be a rhetorical question. She may not be a member of Peeta's assigned medical team, but she is a nurse in the District 13 hospital. She must be able to watch his progress from the window beside the door. I then wonder how she knows that I was with Peeta and not in one of my hiding places. I'm sure that I drew the curtains closed over that one-way window.

I just shake my head and shrug.

"His doctor said that its too dangerous for Peeta to go outside. But ... what if I took him down to the hummingbird room in Special Defense? It's better than nothing." I ask her.

"I don't see why not. But that's one of the lowest levels." My mother reminds me. "He might not be strong enough to cope with the journey. It might tire him out."

After kissing him for who knows how long - neither one of us had been keeping track - I think his stamina is up to the challenge. I don't say this to my mother, however.

I only say, "Maybe not."

I then change into my nightgown and settle down for sleep.

* * *

At seven o'clock, we rise for breakfast. Prim feeds Buttercup a metal dish of fish and chicken. She talks with a fellow nursing student outside our door for a while. I'm glad she seems to be making new friends here. We then dress in our grey pants and tuck in our grey shirts.

My mother helps me braid my hair down my back. It's so damaged from the acid fog, a lot of short strands hang loosely over the bald spots. The three of us take turns washing our faces in the bathroom sink and then make our way to the cafeteria.

Prim has a knowing smile on her lips and I question it, "What? Why are you smiling at me like that?"

She only shrugs, "Nothing."

I roll my eyes playfully and poke her in the side, "Like I believe that."

She giggles, "Stop! That tickles!"

I glance at him but persist with her, "Come on. Why are you so smiley?" I then suspect something, "Is there a classmate that's got their eye on you?"

"Warmer. Well, not really. But you've got the subject right." Prim relents and whispers, "There's a rumor going around the hospital. Johanna Mason saw you kissing Peeta. For a long time."

That explains why our mother knew I had been with Peeta past curfew. Or maybe that was what the student had been telling Prim about outside our compartment.

My cheeks start burning - embarrassing - before I can deny it, "You shouldn't believe everything Johanna says."

Prim shrugs, "I found it pretty believable."

Her expression falters when she sees my face fall.

"I'm just afraid to say it out loud, Prim. But I'm ... I'm so," I shake my head as if tired, " _so_ devoted to Peeta. It's such a hopeless notion. But, a warm one too." I frown, "Does that make any sense?"

Prim pauses for a moment then takes my hand, "It does to me."

We get our schedules printed on the inside of our forearms. I see that I'm expected in Command after breakfast. Other than that, my schedule is the same as it has been since Peeta was rescued. Sleep, eat a lot, drink plenty of water, train hard. Repeat.

I worry that they have the date set to send me to District 2. It's hard to believe that not so long ago, I'd take any opportunity to get me out of this hole. With Peeta in treatment and within my grasp, I cannot think of anything less tempting. I join my mother and sister at our assigned table with the Hawthornes. Prim talks to Gale's five year old sister about Buttercup while my mother reads her novel.

Gale sinks down onto the seat next to mine, the only one left open. Even his District 13 diet has been altered again, in preparation to do battle. He does not stop his sister from picking at his breakfast. He's grown so much in muscle, I think the guards around the room are hesitant to put a stop to this. Or maybe she's just too adorable for their strict ways.

"What does your schedule look like today, Soldier Hawthorne?" I ask Gale after scraping my bowl of hot grain clean, which I had mixed with the sliced apple.

Gale replies, "They need me in Command."

"Me, too." I move my wrist so that he can read it if he wants to.

We've grown apart over the last few months. I don't want to push him away. But, he'll have to accept that I've chosen Peeta. It shouldn't have to be like this with us. That without my romance, I'm worth nothing to him. We walk together to Command nonetheless, out of step.

Plutarch and Haymitch are among the attendants. I sit next to Finnick, whom looks lost without Annie by his side. Gale takes a seat furthest from me but I try not to feel offended. I have too much on my mind to wonder what's going on in his, even if I'm nostalgic for our past.

I guess I can't have my cake and eat it as well. Coin enters the room last and sits across from me and Finnick.

The president says to the room at large, "Commander Lyme has sent word that District 2 is ready for that last push. We are going to take the Nut." Her grey eyes focus on mine, "You won't have much to contribute on that part, Ms. Everdeen. However, your presence is required to keep inspiring and pushing the rebel half, as the Mockingjay." She so easily turned back to everyone, "Departure is set for October 7th."

How did this become something I do not want?

The 75th Hunger Games was held in the middle of July. By September, Peeta had been held captive in the Capitol for 5-6 weeks. He lost weight rapidly with their food-poisoning torture _and_ starvation. September is coming to a close. I know Peeta is not capable of gaining twenty pounds by the time I have to depart - any less than that would be insufficient.

And he's too fragile to make the journey. Before I can stop it, nightmarish scenarios swim past my mind's eye. I see Peeta calling out for me in a panic attack. Becoming sick and asking my mother and Prim where I am. I should be with him.

 _Always._

Lastly, I see him lying in a pine box with his hands folded over his sunken stomach. His pale skin waxen and colorless. Lost his battle to recover. Finnick nudges my knee and I remember that I have eyes watching me. Those images of Peeta fade away as I look at the television screens behind Coin. Footage showing how far we've come in this rebellion.

There's no other word for it.

I'm torn.

* * *

It was pointless giving so much thought to it. I don't make my own choices anymore. At least, not officially. I don't have much control over my own destiny anymore than I can control Peeta's. Choosing to hunt illegally rather than enlist in prostitution, volunteering in Prim's place, and saving Peeta.

Becoming the Mockingjay. Those have been my decisions. Since then, I'm given whiplash. Pulled this way and that. Makeup hiding my scars, my imperfections.

Spurning on the rebels against the Capitol with my presence and words. All orchestrated by Coin. It was Coin's choice that I'll have to be parted from Peeta come October 7th. In a few nights, I'm stealing Peeta away down to the hummingbird room. I'm so done with asking for permission for everything.

But, I can't tell Peeta that I'm leaving him so soon. I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I bump right into one of the nurses on Peeta's medical team.

"I don't know what you said to him, Ms. Everdeen." says the nurse, a dark skinned man with hard brown eyes and short wiry black hair.

"What? What's wrong? Did something happen to Peeta - " I panic.

"He finished his breakfast."

I stammer, "H-His breakfast?"

"Gone!" confirmed the nurse, grinning with relief.

I feel at the left side of my chest, "You gave me a heart attack."

The nurse walks off at the beeping of his communicuff without saying 'goodbye'. But, I don't care. Peeta ate his breakfast. All of it! It can't have been much but I'm thrilled.

My kisses must have put him in a greater mood than he has been in for the last month and a half.

I enter Peeta's hospital room and he greets me just as cheerfully, "Is this going to be our new routine? You coming to me after dinner every night?"

I smile broadly, "As long as I'm welcome."

I can't bear to tell him that I'll have to leave in a few weeks. Part of me wonders if it will inspire him to focus on his recovery. Then the other part of me reminds myself of what Prim told me a few nights ago. That Peeta's recovery must be slow and gentle.

"You still don't know the affect you can have on people." Peeta says.

I climb in beside him on his bed and he puts his thin arm around me. I remember when he was stocky with muscle. How heavy it felt on my shoulders. How good the weight of him felt to me.

"I heard the good news," I prompt him.

Peeta chuckles, his voice still sounding low and hoarse from vomiting, "I thought it might make you happy."

"You were right," I reply, rewarding him with a kiss.

I lay on my back and he half-rolls on top of me, kissing all the while. He does feel heavy but not nearly as much as he should. It's only the weight of his bones and organs, not muscle. We wait for his supper to be delivered. When we part and he rolls off me, I tell him about moving around District 13.

I prop my head up on the heel of my hand, gazing down at him. Peeta rests his hands on his chest, drinking in my every word with his beautiful eyes. He has retained those long, thick lashes.

"First, we were down in Compartment 307. Then we were in Compartment E on the topmost level. It had a window two feet wide and eight inches high. We left it open so that Buttercup could go outside. But, after the bombings, we were moved to Compartment 2212. No window, so Prim's box training him."

Peeta wrinkles his nose, "That must smell."

"We clean it out daily." I wrinkle my nose back at him.

At that moment, there's a knock on his door and a cook delivers his dinner. I don't bother moving off the bed. If Prim is right about the rumor, the cook shouldn't be so surprised to see Peeta and I entwined. Besides, I've been down here like clockwork every night. I ought to have learnt the cook's name by now.

I can smell the garlic from under the top. It is good for treating viruses as well as fungal and bacterial infections. The cook sets the tray down on a high metal table that's attached to the bed. I pull it over us and we sit up. Peeta thanks the cook before she departs.

"Let's see what I've got in store tonight." He grins for me.

He takes the lids off and I am happier with what we find. It appears to be chicken soup and there is a few circles of bread on the side. The evergreen herb floating in the dark broth, thyme, also has medicinal properties. Shards of dried sage had been added to help soothe his battered throat. Chopped celery stalks, diced onion, squares of carrots, strings of chicken, leafy greens.

I can smell salt and pepper in there as well. Instead of the bread we're served in the cafeteria, these are soft fluffy biscuits. It all looks so tempting ... but Peeta hasn't moved.

"They're taking you off the smoothies and nuts?" I ask him.

Peeta nods, "They say that the dairy in the smoothie will agitate my throat after I screwed it up again so badly. Make it all thick and stuff."

"Would it make you feel better if I took a bite first?" I ask him.

Peeta shakes his head and sighs, "I've got to trust these people. Besides, if it were poisoned, I'd take the first bite to save you."

I look at him seriously, "If I had even an _inkling_ that they'd hurt you, Peeta, I'd knock this stuff right onto the floor."

I motion wiping my hand through the air. Peeta scoffs, smirking. He takes a bite and is silent for a moment, swishing it around in his mouth. Then he serves me a portion in the lid of his dish. I taste butter and lemon juice.

The fluffy biscuits are to kill for.

I dip them in the soup, "You're certainly getting the royal treatment here, Peeta. We don't get served stuff this good in the cafeteria."

"So, what _is_ it like in the 'outside world'?" Peeta asks, mixed with curiosity and a touch of sarcasm. "I often wonder. For when I get out of here."

 _For_ if _you get out of here_ , my brain hears.

"I'm not going to lie. The breakfast is pretty bland. It's hot grain with a cup of fruit or vegetables and a glass of milk." I describe to Peeta. "Lunch is heartier. Some sort of stew." I purse my lips, " Beggars can't be choosers, right? At least we can count on eating three meals a day now."

Peeta tries dipping a biscuit after seeing me do it. His cheekbones still jut out and his cheeks are still shadowy as he chews thoroughly. He eats so slowly, his stomach will tell him that he's full before he has made half a dent in his supper. But, if this makes him more comfortable, so be it.

"What would you eat right now if you could have anything in the world?" He asks me after some silence.

I have to think for a moment. My favorite dish from the Capitol was dried plums over rice. But now that I'm buried dozens upon dozens of feet below the Earth's surface, I can only think of my home. Home, which has been burnt to ash and we can never return to. My mind goes to Peeta's family bakery.

"A carrot cake baked by you." I grin. "With your beautiful orange flowers. How about you?"

After his confession, I understand that he does not miss food one bit. He just shakes his head and I don't press him to make a decision. It's asking too much right now. I search for a change of subject.

"Your head doctor says that we have to wait to outside." I inform Peeta. "But, I have another idea."

His disappointment is fleeting, "What is it?"

"There's a room down in the Special Defense level. I went there with Gale and Beetee." I explain. "They're studying the flying technique of hummingbirds in there. It's the most beautiful place in District 13. I've got to show it to you."

"Definitely." Peeta smiles. "When do we go?"

I give him a mischievous grin, "I haven't asked for permission. I don't want to give them the chance to find some excuse to keep you here. My mother thinks it's too far of a walk but ... Whatever. It's fine. We just have to wait till the coast is clear."

Peeta reflects my grin, "I'd follow the Mockingjay into the jaws of death."

I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head reprovingly. I tell him more about the hummingbird room while we settle down facing each other, sharing the single pillow. We hold hands and I stroke his with my thumb. My voice trails away as his eyelids grow heavy. I move my hand from his to stroke his hair. He sighs, nestling his thin face deeper into the pillow. I smile, remembering how he did this for me.

"Remember when we were on the roof of the Training Center?" I recall to him. "Our first picnic? You stroked my hair and let me sleep on your lap. You made me feel ... safe."

Peeta furrows his brows, opening his eyes and swallowing hard, "For all we knew, we were going to be dead the next day."

"That just makes it more remarkable, I think." I say.

All of a sudden, he starts breathing quicker. I look at him with alarm in my heart. Peeta shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. I don't know what's going on.

I grasp his sharp shoulder, "Peeta -?!"

Peeta sits up and stifles a cough. I sit up with him, watching him with wide eyes closely.

He presses his fist over his heart, "It's just a tickle in the back of my throat. I'm fine."

But I can see the water welling in his eyes. He might reopen his charred throat. While Peeta massages his chest, I hand him his water cup. Instead of reaching for it as I expect, Peeta just parts his lips ajar. His fingers are still pressing around on his chest.

I close the distance and he takes a generous gulp. Some dribbles down his sharp chin and he chuckles, catching it with his boney hands. That laughter seems to stop whatever was making him breath so shallowly. I apologize, taking up his bed sheet to dry his mouth while he wipes his hands on his hospital gown.

"What was that?" I whisper. "Was that the start of another panic attack?"

Peeta is indecisive, "I can't tell. Maybe we shouldn't talk about the Games for a while."

"No problem," I say.

But, I didn't mean to bring up our Games. I only meant to recall a memory with him that was a good one. It's just impossible to find one without the Capitol as the backdrop. I watch him struggle to relax, running my hands up and down his back while he hides his face in his hands. I push the table away.

I despair over the thought of leaving him for District 2. If this is how he reacts to a mere mention of our history, I know now how he'll react to our parting. No doubt it will remind him too much of when we were separated in the second Arena. I kiss the back of his neck, burying my face in his blond curls. Then he closes one hand on mine that's hooked on his shoulder.

"I love you so much, Katniss." He breathes.

I don't hesitate to whisper back, "I love you, too."

A teardrop falls down my cheek and plops down from my chin to his nightgown, darkening the white cloth gray as the clouds that hang over our future.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I do make every effort to see Peeta after dinner each night. Sometimes the medical team leaves us alone, and I could get away with staying the whole night if I wished. But, most of the time I'm asked to leave before 22:00 curfew. Meetings with Coin and Plutarch are almost always scheduled after dinner nowadays, telling me how my presence is going to be handled and protected in District 2.

It is now September the 29th. I have to leave in a week and I still haven't told Peeta the plan. I walk to the dining hall with my family after Reflection.

"Oh, Katniss. I wanted to tell you before you go to Command. I saw Peeta before Reflection." says Prim.

"Is he doing okay?" I ask her. "I haven't seen him for two days."

"He seemed alright when I said 'hi' to him. Maybe a little sad. He asked about you, of course. Don't worry, I didn't tell him about District 2. He was working on his milk and bread."

I glare at the thought, "What? I shared chicken soup with him the other night!"

Prim looks rather surprised at my outburst. I check to see if I had startled anyone else before focusing again on my sister.

"He probably showed symptoms of re-feeding syndrome." She guesses. "It's when a starved person is fed too much too soon. If he exhibited any symptoms, they would cut back on his diet. They did that for some 12 kids."

I gaze into my beef stew and set down my thick bread. I put my hands in my lap, squeezing them between my thighs. They felt cold all of a sudden.

"It's my fault. I kept pressuring him."

Prim holds my wrist, "He has so many people telling him what to do right now. Maybe it would be best if you left him to the professionals." She quickly adds, "But, that doesn't mean that you can't visit him till he's recovered, of course!"

I squint at the memory of that night, "He was breathing so shallowly, Prim. I think he felt pain in his chest."

Prim gives me an awkward side-hug. After dinner, I head straight for Command in the hopes that would get it over with faster.

"How long is this going to take?" I ask Plutarch. "I have to see Peeta."

Plutarch chuckles, "Since we busted Mr. Mellark out, it's like pulling teeth to get you to Command all over again."

"I do my duties as the Mockingjay." I say in my defense. "But, you've been ordering me in here for meetings which I stay silent for most of. I'm just the mouthpiece. Remember?"

"Well, sweetheart." says Haymitch from behind me, "I think you still underestimate your value to the revolution."

"It's not wise to sneak up on a Victor, Haymitch." I shoot him a glare.

I take my seat without getting an estimate from Plutarch. The clock strikes 21:30 hours when this meeting is adjourned. Throughout that hour and a half, I thought of nothing but Peeta and what Prim had said. I stewed in my regret and anxiety. My mind was so many miles away that it took Beetee riding over my toe to bring me back to my surroundings.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Katniss." he apologizes after I recoil my foot. "I didn't see your leg hanging out this way -"

I interrupt him, "Can you get Peeta and I access to the hummingbird room?"

"What for?" he asks.

I reply, "He hasn't seen the outdoors in months. His head doctor says it's too polluted aboveground after the Capitol bombed us. The hummingbird room is the next best thing."

He notes my sincerity, "Yes, Ms. Everdeen. I'm down there almost every night. Just tell the security guards that I need you both."

I follow him out the door and we share the elevator. I get off before him since Special Defense is the lowest level but for the dungeons. I hurry to Peeta's room, rushing past healers and doctors. Narrowly avoiding collisions with trolleys. Finally, I arrive breathless and pretty much fall through his door.

Peeta is startled by the noise I make. When he sees that its only me, he catches his breath and lays a hand over his heart.

He breathes, "You always knew how to make an entrance."

"I'm so sorry." I clear my throat. "I just wanted to see you."

"That badly, huh?" Peeta smiles weakly.

Is it just my paranoia, or has his complexion grown paler? I carry a stool over to sit at his bedside.

"Are you sick?" I ask him, furrowing my brows.

Peeta shrugs, "They're cutting back on my sugar intake and upping my phosphorus supplements. I swear, I take more pills than eat food." He stops chuckling when he sees my frown, "Sorry."

I'm having reservations about taking him to the hummingbird room. If he is getting sick, he needs all the strength he has to fight through it.

"I dream about us sneaking away." Peeta tells me. "You don't have to be the Mockingjay anymore. Together, we build a cabin by a lake. The war ends without us. We're still just teenagers. Prim and your mother are our neighbors. You get a hunting dog. I open another Mellark Bakery."

"That sounds amazing." I purse my lips.

I don't allow myself to think of the future. I just focus on Peeta's recovery. Whether he lives or dies will determine my future.

"When are you going to show me the birds?" he asks.

I give a dramatic sigh and rub his hand, "Just waiting for the right moment to make your escape. Beetee is in on it now."

Peeta's face falls, "Can't we go tonight?"

I shake my head, "You need your rest. Prim says I'm to leave you to the professionals from now on."

I did not know he was so looking forward to this. He looks so sad. I'm about to ask him why ... then he gives me the worst news so far.

"They're going to install the feeding tube tomorrow." Peeta tells me quietly.

I lift my head, "... What?" I blink rapidly and shake my head, "But, you're eating every meal now -"

"I don't want to scare you. But I've got re-feeding syndrome. They need to control my intake completely. If I continue on my own, they say that I can get convulsions ... which can lead to a heart attack. " He explains softly, wringing his hands anxiously. "It's out of my hands. Like most things are nowadays.

I close my mouth after realizing it was gaped. I feel so much pity for him and my heart is sinking. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. I wanted Peeta to have as much control over his recovery as possible. And he said that he doesn't want to scare _me_?

 _Ugh_. Of course he's worrying about me when he should be more worried about himself. I'm leaving soon. I can't predict what's going to happen in 2. Once that feeding tube is down his throat, it will be much harder if not impossible to take him anywhere. I step off from my stool, Peeta watches me with those baleful eyes.

"Take my hand." I hold one out to him. "We're going to the hummingbird room."

Peeta leans heavily on his walker while I trail his IV stand along beside him. His eyes take in the enormity of the underground District 13. Murmuring words like 'amazing' and 'incredible' as we go. I lead him to the elevator.

"It's on the bottom level." I tell him. "Swallow when your ears pop."

In order to go outside, we'd be required to wear an ankle tracker and take a handheld communicator. In the Special Defense level, we need to get through two security check points to reach the hummingbird room. The security guards eye me and Peeta suspiciously. Peeta's heavy breathing don't help our case much. But, eventually they let us through.

Maybe they felt a debt was overdue, Peeta risking his life to warn them about the Capitol's incoming bomber crafts. Peeta gives a breath of awe as we walk up to the large plate-glass window. He puts a hand against it and I stand beside him, watching his reaction. His hollow eyes brighten and his lips stay parted.

"Can we go inside?" he asks me breathlessly.

Its not the kind of breathlessness that comes from exhaustion. It's from disbelief and excitement.

"Of course!" I smile, "Follow me."

Inside is a replication of a meadow. There are real trees and flowering plants like orange blossoms, honeysuckles, columbines, bottlebrushes, and fuchsia. And, of course, there are the hummingbirds. Palm-sized birds with elongated beaks dart all around us, slurping up nectar from their boundless garden.

"Who do I have to kill for a palette and an easel?" Peeta asks.

We smile ecstatically at each other. He mouths 'thank you' to me and I mouth back 'you're welcome'. I watch him take in a lungful of the cool fragrant air. I lift the IV drip stand and carry it along whichever direction he takes his walker in. He runs his hand along the trunk of a tree.

"Well, we can't have a picnic." I say. "But, at least you can _pretend_ you're outside."

"We'll have other opportunities to go outside. I'm sure the bomb fumes will die away by October." Peeta says.

I begrudgingly say, "Sure."

 _If I come back from District 2 in one piece_. He looks at me, catching the tone in my reply.

"I'm sorry. I would've told you two days ago about the feeding tube." He apologizes. "Where have you been? I saw Prim."

I avoid his gaze, "Oh, you know. Just Mockingjay stuff." I try a change of subject, "You'll love it outside. I did this when I got out of here," I twirl before him and he smiles."I hunted squirrels, rabbits, and turkeys. Just like old times. I even brought down a deer once. We had minced venison in our stew."

"Did that taste good?" He asks.

"Sure it did."

Peeta winces, "I need to sit down. I feel like I've walked a mile in snow."

"Here, let me help." I say.

I steady the IV drip with one hand and use my other for Peeta to hang off of while he sinks down to the ground. I may be pessimistic, but he felt no heavier than thirteen-year old Prim would soaking wet.

"Thanks." He grunts, shifting around for the most comfortable position. "This feels so good. I get sore from lying in bed all day. Have you ever been sick? Before the Games?"

I tilt my head, sitting across from him, "I'm sure I have. Maybe not the flu, since my mother was a healer. But I've caught a cold here and there like everybody else. You?"

Peeta shakes his head, "Nothing more serious than the sniffles. I got hurt from ... roughhousing with my brothers."

I know neither of his brothers were the one who was rough with him but I don't outright question the cover-up. No matter, though. The rest of the Mellark family are most likely dead anyway. I won't ever tell him this, but I'm glad his mother is dead. I look at his bruises and scrapes now, comparing to the mark Mrs. Mellark had left on her son.

There's no contest with the Capitol. But, I can't begin to excuse a mother who would abuse her own children. _When will I get him to a place where he can't be hurt?_ Peeta lies on his back in silence for a little while, watching the birds buzz overhead. I hope his mind is far away from any thought of my Mockingjay responsibilities.

"I forgot to tell you the good news." Peeta says. "I've gained four pounds."

"That's great, Peeta!" I say. "You weigh more than I do again."

Peeta laughs. This really is good news for me. He weighs almost 123 pounds. Twenty-one more pounds to go to meet the bare minimum for his height. Maybe the feeding tube isn't such a step backward.

His recovery cannot depend on Peeta's unreliable appetite. I imagine him painting these birds on a canvas in that log cabin he spoke of. I think it would be great to have a hunting dog after the war is over. What a great idea of his -

"Don't you have something to tell me?" He asks.

I'm caught off-guard, "Huh?"

"Something's going on. You've been busier than usual." Peeta accuses, his hoarse voice soft. "There's something that you're not telling me."

I focus on a bird that requires me to hide my face from Peeta, "I don't know what you mean."

Peeta rolls over and props his head on the heel of his hand.

He echoes me, "You can tell me anything. You know that."

I turn to look at him, to deny it. I'm under no threat. I can keep my mouth shut ... theoretically. I thought I've been doing a good job of it for days. But, I crumble beneath the look those blue eyes are giving me.

They are more effective than any Peacekeeper holding the mouth of a gun to my forehead.

"I have to leave 13." I finally confess.

Peeta sits up, swaying his IV stand, "When? _Why_?"

"Not forever!" I assure him, sitting up and laying my hands on his thigh. "Just until we take control of District 2, then I'll be back by your side -"

"... D-District _ **2**_? _NO_!" Peeta is suddenly on his feet, knocking off my hands.

He goes from calm to hysterical so quickly I must have whiplash.

He cries, "They can't make you go! District 2 is too far up the Capitol's ass! Katniss, Peacekeepers come from there! It's too dangerous! Please, listen to me!" His voice cracks and I hear sobs break his roaring yell at the guards standing behind the window, "I won't let you take her! You hear me?! I won't let you take her away from me again!"

He staggers for the door without his walker. The guards are watching him with alarm, unsure of what to do. One seems somewhat amused by the too-skinny, 5'9", disabled Victor threatening him. Peeta's burst of passionate fury stuns my body and mind. I scramble to my feet once I get the feeling back into them.

"P-Peeta!" I croak, running after him.

His real leg gives way and he slams to the ground with a pained grunt. Knee first, then shoulder, his face last. One arm stretches outward, yanking the IV drip to the ground.

" _PEETA_!" I give a strangled yell, dropping to my knees beside him.

I help him sit on his heels. He's trembling, with pain and anguish. He's breathing too fast, like he's gulping for air. He manages to get out a word here and there. My name and 'no'.

Tears spilling over, cutting clean tracks through the dirt. I shush him and wipe away the dirt. He grips my wrists a little too tight and keeps his eyes fixed on mine, adding 'please' to his repetitive words whenever he had enough breath to whimper. He's like a lynx kitten, orphaned and alone and terrified. I feel guilty.

I cause his heartbreak. He has not insisted that he go with me. He must know how grave his health status is and that it would be impossible. It would require his entire medical team to accompany him. His special diet and physical therapy is down to 13's science.

Not to mention his psychological scars to boot. Sure, there may be teams of people in District 2 equipped to deal with such a complicated and delicate patient. But I don't know whose side they're on and I only trust the medics here because there are no alternatives. Peeta must believe that I would not let him go with me no more than he would bring me along if our situation were reversed. Waves of sobs roll through him.

Without thinking about it, I start humming notes for him. Then I part my lips to sing the notes for him more clearly. After about a minute, his grip on my wrists begins to lighten. At last, his breathing is evening-out. Just hiccupping because he must have swallowed a lot of air instead of breathing it in.

My last note fades away and I say to Peeta, "They need me, Peeta."

His lips quiver and he shuts his eyes, bowing his head, "... I know."

I reach to fix his IV drip stand and I curl up against his chest, letting him cradle me. I embrace him around his ribs, resting my ear over his heart. I can hear it hammering behind these brittle bones and fragile skin. I run my hand up and down his boney back to soothe him. I feel the wetness of his cheek against my scalp.

I peak open my eyes when I hear a commotion beyond the glass. Then I see Beetee rolling our way. I lift my head from Peeta's chest and he follows my gaze. Us still sitting on the ground, the door opens up. Beetee is flanked by four guards and Peeta's head doctor emerges from behind this angry looking entourage.

"I assumed you had permission to bring Peeta down here." Beetee says.

Peeta's doctor steps in between Peeta and I, "You are not supposed to leave your room, Mr. Mellark."

"I asked her to bring me here." Peeta tells him. "She did nothing wrong. It's my fault -"

"Don't worry about Ms. Everdeen. Let's return you to your room. You have a big day ahead." says the doctor.

"Careful!" I yelp when the guards lift Peeta to his feet and hand him his walker too roughly for my liking.

Peeta has dirt on his trousers and his hospital gown. I can see his spine and ribs through his almost translucent skin.

Peeta's doctor blocked my view of Peeta being led away, "We are careful, Ms. Everdeen. At least, I _thought_ we were. Your visits with Mr. Mellark are going to be chaperoned from now on."

I follow the doctor to the elevator without making eye contact with Beetee. I spend the rest of the night fretting over Peeta's day ahead. I wish I could be in the bed with him. I miss him so terribly and my need to protect is flaring up so much that my heart hurts. My dreams are filled with Peeta crying over a tube protruding from his belly and being depressed.

* * *

I skip breakfast entirely. I quickly dress in my grey trousers and neglect to tuck in my grey shirt. I leave our compartment before my mother and sister can even wish me 'good morning'. I take the stairs to the hospital because the elevator would be too slow. I have zero patience this morning. I barely stop in time for the healer blocking Peeta's door.

She tells me, "No visitors are allowed in except in the patient's allotted hours -"

"What's your plan to keep me out?" I ask her.

She shrinks beneath my glare. Finally she steps aside. Wise choice. I wedge my way through the door and meet the head doctor's eye. Our previous relationship of niceties has gone.

"Please, let her stay." Peeta begs weakly, knowing that.

The doctor sighs and turns away from me. I rush to the opposite side of the bed, gazing down at Peeta.

"Good morning, Katniss." Peeta says to me. "I'm glad you're here."

This morning is not that good.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else." I try to smile.

He lifts his hand from his stomach.

I take it, "You're cold!" I cover it with both hands and double over to blow some heat on it. "It's going to be okay."

The healers wash their hands and pull on gloves. I hate how long it takes them to set up the equipment. I don't know who they're waiting for. To my surprise, my mother walks in the door about twenty minutes later.

"You asked my mother to do the honors?" I ask him bemusedly.

"She's the best healer from 12." Peeta smiles up at me, though I can tell that he's putting on a front.

He's nervous. I resume rubbing his hand. My mother and I greet each other. She rolls up her sleeves and washes her hands in the sink. Another healer helps her into rubber gloves and she takes the head doctor's place at Peeta's bedside.

That healer and another push a trolley with a machine on top of it over to my mother. There is also a cup of water with a straw. She picks up the tube and shows it to us. It's slimmer than the straw and very flexible.

"This a nasogastric feeding tube, Peeta." says my mother. "I will insert it up your nostril. It will then travel down your throat to your stomach."

"That ... doesn't sound so bad." his grip tightens.

My mother asks, "Do you have a preference for a nostril?"

Peeta frowns as though that it the least of his concern, "Whichever one you think is best, Mrs. Everdeen."

The healers move into action and I'm forced to let go of Peeta. He is instructed to sit up straight and my mother lathers a layer of lubricant on the end of the tube. I hover over by my mother, trying to find enough space so that Peeta could still see me. Peeta appears to hold his breath as she inserts the tube up his right nostril. I see Peeta grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut.

"You're hurting him -!"

Peeta gasps, "It's only a little uncomfortable. I'm fine, Katniss."

"Give him his water," my mother tells a fellow healer. "Now, Peeta. Swallow when I say."

When it's done, she tapes the tube in place against Peeta's cheek and tucks the rest behind his ear. It was at this point that I notice the tube is not connected to the machine.

"Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen." Peeta coughs.

The tube connecting to the machine is clearer than the tube in Peeta's nose. One healer holds it at the ready while another prepares a syringe.

"Yes. Thank you, healer Everdeen." Says the head doctor. "That was the hard part, Mr. Mellark. We're going to pump some stomach acid out to test the pH level in it and make sure it's in your stomach. Then we'll leave you to rest." He looks at me, "Alone."

My mother stands beside me in front of the one-way window till the ordeal is over. Peeta looks stressed and exhausted.

"Could I have some sleep syrup?" He asks the nearest healer.

I refuse to leave his side till he falls asleep, his hand going limp in mine.

* * *

After that stressful day, I'm only allowed to see Peeta at the scheduled time (4:30 p.m. - 5:30 p.m.) and always with at least guard outside the door. All too soon, the day of my departure arrives. I'm standing on the landing pad with Gale, Boggs, my prep crew, Haymitch, and the insects. I'm wearing my Mockingjay outfit. Gale is outfitted with his comunicuff.

Finnick did not come because he couldn't leave Annie's side. I envy them. Such a beautiful and happy couple. If they stay in this underground place forever, they might have a future. Whereas mine with Peeta is so uncertain. Peeta arrives with arm in arm with his head doctor, pulling along his IV drip stand.

I'm amazed at his improvement in just a week. His bruises are almost gone. His scrape on his cheekbone has fresh pink skin. His expression is grim, however. He glances up at Gale and down to me.

To quell any doubts in my devotion to Peeta, I walk right up to him and kiss him. He frees his arm from the doctor and holds me tight. We sway where we stand, digging our noses into each other's cheeks as we kiss deeply. I don't mean this to do this to hurt Gale. Only to reassure Peeta.

"Alright, lovebirds." Haymitch chuckles awkwardly. "There'll be plenty more time for all that later."

The insects come over and introduce themselves to Peeta.

"You can watch your girlfriend on the television," Cressida assures Peeta. "Messalla and I will be filming Katniss every step of the way."

Peeta looks marginally reassured by that.

"Lucky you," I smile for Peeta.

"You'll see so much of her, you'll get sick of it." teases Haymitch.

"Fat chance." Peeta beams at me.

Haymitch turns to Peeta, "Trust me, this is going to be her most uneventful trip yet."

Peeta eyes Haymitch critically, "It better be."

Again, he can't muster being intimidating like he was capable of before. But Haymitch nods anyway and sidesteps away. Peeta holds my hands.

"How are you doing?" I ask him for the upteenth time.

He shrugs with bravado, "Got two more pounds under my belt. Wanna bet how much I'll have when you return?"

"I don't want to pressure you." I say. "Just ... be good. Okay?"

"Says the young woman who kidnapped me to the underground meadow!" Peeta teases.

"Hovercraft 12-21 ready for takeoff." says a voice on the intercom.

I look at Peeta, feeling pain in my own chest.

"See you later." Peeta says sadly.

I can see he's trying to appear strong for me.

I shake my head surreptitiously, "Peeta ..."

There's so many things I need to say to him. To remember to push through the pain in physical therapy, listen to the psychiatrists, let the medics do whatever must be done to keep him stabilized. That I love him.

"It's okay." he says, smiling grimly.

"Climb aboard, Ms. Everdeen." Boggs says to me, corralling me with his hand at my back.

I reach out to grab Peeta's hand. His cold, quivering hand. I must give him my warmth, leave him something to hold onto. Before I'm frozen to the ladder and away I go.

"Wait!" I yelp, plunging my hand into my pocket.

I twist away from Boggs and run back to Peeta. I unfold his hand and place his pearl in the center of his palm.

"No, you should take that with you -" he begins.

"Don't lose it." I cut across him.

I can't bear to kiss him again. If I do, I might never be able to let go. I turn away and run to the ladder. Once inside, I flatten my hand against the window, gazing at him till he becomes a golden spot in a sea of grey and I am swallowed up by the clouds.

* * *

Getting shot in District 2, resulting in bruised ribs and the removal of my spleen, is not exactly the way I'd prefer to make Peeta feel confident in being separated from me. I'm sharing a room with Johanna Mason. Who's brilliant idea that was, I do not know. And she keeps stealing my morphling. I wake up to Haymitch at my bedside.

"Does Peeta know?" is the first question I ask.

Haymitch cocks a brow, "Unfortunately, he watched it happen on the television."

I cringe. What am I supposed to tell him next time when I have to leave to battle the Capitol? I look at Haymitch again and notice something. He looks stressed ... and I don't believe its about my ordeal.

I croak, "Wait, why isn't he here?"

Haymitch tells me quietly, "He caught pneumonia, Katniss."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

That one sentence made me temporarily forget I just had a splenectomy. _Peeta can't be sick. He can't be._ I gulp and shake my head, my eyes darting all over the place. Not looking at anything in particular.

Searching for Peeta. My emotions are slipping through my grasp.

"Pneumonia?" I repeat tremulously.

Haymitch nods. I cry 'no' and he attempts to console me. But, his expression is like he's dealing with a toddler who is about to throw a tantrum.

"I have to see him!" I say urgently.

I fling away my bedsheet and swing my legs over the ledge of the bed. Narrowly missing kicking Haymitch in the shoulder. I sit up straight and gasp, clutching at my thick bandages. It was as though I had been shot all over again. That feeling of a sledgehammer smashing into my ribs.

"Easy!" Haymitch scathes, jumping up to help me.

I cringe away from his touch and weakly drop back onto my pillow. I'm breathless with the pain, squinting through it at Haymitch. In my mind, I'm taken back to the cave Peeta and I shared in our first Games. I nearly lost him to blood poisoning as a result of Cato stabbing his leg. Even now, I can feel the heat of his dry forehead on my fingertips.

"They have canceled his physical therapy till he beats this thing. He's got a 101° fever -"

"It's my fault!" I whimper. "It's all my fault."

Naturally, my mind is presenting me with the worse possible scenario. I see Peeta emaciated all over again, his pale skin shiny with sweat, and his blond hair greased to his burning forehead. I know what his coughs sound like. I heard them echo in our cave. Gritting my teeth together, I beat my bed with my fists till Haymitch pins down my arms.

I can't struggle much underneath his weight. So, I go lifeless. Blinking deliriously up at the ceiling.

"Katniss, there are some things in life that are out of our control." He tells me. "It's out of our hands. He's going to make it. You know I wouldn't tell you that if it weren't true. Right?"

 _No, I don't know that. You'll say anything to get me to do what you want._ But, District 13 is far more advanced than mine ever was. Though it does not have the Capitol's lab medicine. I hate to acknowledge it, but they'd probably be capable of fixing Peeta's pneumonia in less than a day. I study Haymitch's expression, looking for any sign that he's lying.

"He's not going to die. You're promising me ... _again_?" I ask him tearfully.

Haymitch sighs but its Johanna whom answers from behind the curtain dividing us, "He's going to have to try pretty damn hard to die with your family watching over him."

There's a bite to the way she says 'family'. But, I don't take offense because Johanna is alone. She has gained more weight back than Peeta has and her hair is beginning to grow. Apparently the Capitol did not poison her food, reserving that torture for Peeta. I assume this because she's was not hooked up to a feeding tube.

Then Johanna added hatefully, "Yep. Your cute little Prim will be there to wipe that smelly dark phlegm from his chin he keeps coughing up -"

"Quiet, Mason!" Haymitch cut across her angrily

I ignore Haymitch's outrage, "You've seen him, Johanna?!"

This was clearly not the sort of way Johanna had been counting on me responding. I don't trust Haymitch's promises anymore. I need someone who has no cause to lie to me. Someone who never sugarcoats anything. Someone who wants to see me suffer with the truth.

Johanna replies, "Never seen anyone more pitiful." I'm not sure if she's referring to me or Peeta. "I've never seen anyone lose it so quickly. Peeta tried to yank his feeding tube from his nose but he started puking all over himself. He got infected soon after they gave him a sedative."

As I let those details sink into my brain, I hear her leave the room. I call for her to return because I need more information. I'm not the crying type. But I feel the tears brimming and my throat constricting.

It has nothing to do with the pain that I am in. I had spent several weeks in District 2. I wish I had never left. What I could've done to prevent this for Peeta, I do not know. But, at least he would not have had to suffer alone.

Coughing up puss and blood.

"When can I see him?" I ask Haymitch.

Haymitch replies, "Well, your doctor wants you up and moving as soon as possible. That's not going to happen today, Katniss."

I'm bedbound for about a week and half, but I'm not without visitors. Cressida and the insects film me here to prove to Panem that I was not assassinated. In light of Peeta's health downfall, I promise the Capitol to expect us soon.

It's Snow's doing that Peeta is so ill. Why his recovery is so complicated. I placate myself with daydreams of killing that monster. I hope my hatred showed on my face while the camera was on me. That Snow felt threatened by my determination at all.

After Haymitch, Gale stops by to tell me that the rebels have taken District 2 under their control. Many of the Nut employees turned on the Capitol's soldiers. Gale and I still disagree over what is justifiable during a war. But he promises to check on Peeta for me. Finnick also drops by to tell Johanna and I about his wedding.

Finally, I'm allowed to take short walks as part of my rehabilitation. I have only one destination in mind. I pass by the flurry of activity in preparation for Finnick & Annie's wedding. When I see the healers, I can feel from the way they look at me that they know I won't have a date to the wedding ceremony. Johanna was not lying about my family being part of Peeta's medical team.

They're not wearing the same colored uniforms, off-white scrubs, but they've each got their grey scrubs on. Prim hugs me gently, careful not to hurt my side. My mother rubs my back and they ask me how I am feeling. However, because my emotions seem to depend on Peeta's wellbeing, I respond like this:

"How's Peeta?"

"Vomit slipped into in his lungs while he was purging himself." my mother tells me. "It's called aspiration pneumonia. Outcome depends on one's health prior to infection, what type of bacteria we're dealing with, and how much of his lungs are damaged."

His health prior to infection was 'on Death's doorstep' to me. My family reads the anguish in my face.

"We're using a noninvasive form of ventilation to help him breathe and cough when he needs to." adds Prim.

I nod, seeing the mask over Peeta's face. In terms of weight gain, I could not see a difference between the way Peeta looked now and the day I left him. Maybe I would if I could see him out from under his bed sheet. His cheeks still look as sunken as ever.

"What're they feeding him?" I ask them. "Has he lost any weight since I've been gone?"

"No, honey." My mother assures me. "In fact, he's almost at one-hundred and thirty pounds. His head doctor said that if- _when_ he reaches one-forty, he can be taken off the feeding tube. It's better sooner than later that he eats for himself."

Prim answers my first question, "Carrots, spinach, special teas in addition to the antibiotics. A lot of garlic, applying it topically to his chest. They're doing everything they can to heal the infection and maintain his weight gain."

I had been so worried that the illness would cause him to lose weight.

"It's good timing that they installed the feeding tube." I mutter.

My mother nods, "If they had waited, it might have been impossible. And he'd be in a very precarious spot indeed."

I squeeze their hands, "Thank you."

Prim hands me a container, "Coat his pectorals and ribs with this. It's garlic cream. It'll help him heal more naturally."

When I sit at his bedside, I can see a bluish discoloration in his fair skin. He wheezes behind his translucent mask, which covers his nose and mouth. Strapped to the back of his head with an elastic band. He's not wearing his hospital gown. I wonder if he's entirely nude beneath the bed sheet till I spot the outline of the waistband of his drawstring pants.

"Peeta?" I whisper, drying his forehead with my sleeve. "It's me. It's Katniss."

I wait but Peeta does not stir. I roll his bed sheet out of the way, down to his navel. I dip my fingers in the container and spread the pungent cream across his chest with the firmness of a feather. Peeta coughs harshly, making me jolt. The dark phlegm resembles pond water, brackish and stagnant.

I lift the mask and wipe his lips with a paper towel from the roll set on the nearest countertop. I examine it more closely on the towel. It's rather thick and has the stench of festering flesh. I know that if he were just one of my mother's patients in our kitchen, I'd run like hell to my woods. But I remain at his side.

Nothing will split me from him again. I lean forward and kiss his lips before replacing the mask. Peeta slowly blinks his eyes open as I sit back.

I beam at him, "Hey, Peeta. I missed you."

His pupils dilate in the sea of light blue when he recognizes me. I watch his lips form my name and he lifts his hand to his mask, moving it off to the side. I take up his free hand, holding it to my cool cheek. I feel his finger reach out to touch a strand of my straight hair. He sighs, tilting his head lethargically while he rubs the lock between his thumb and index finger.

"I'm dreaming." He murmurs. "I must be."

He strokes my cheek with the curve of his fingers. I lean into his touch, kissing his ring finger. He sighs and shuts his eyes for a moment, swallowing deeply.

"You're not dreaming." I assure him.

He bats his eyes open, smiling up at me. I never knew how effective that smile was on me. It improves his current state a fair amount. Filling me with warmth and hope.

"Are you okay?" He asks, barely above a whisper, furrowing his brows.

I can hear a crackle in his deepened voice. He's blinking so heavily.

"Cinna did his job well," I nod, massaging his hand.

He eyes the bulge of bandages beneath my grey top.

Peeta swallows hard, "Oh, _Katniss_ ..."

"I'm doing a lot better. Almost as good as new!" I assure him. "Oh, how I wanted to see you. Waiting was more torturous than any pain my body has."

"But I saw you get shot!" He croaks tearfully, breathing shallowly. "I saw it on the television. I'll never forget that sound."

I shush him, stroking his face. He must not go into a panic attack. With his lungs infected, he could choke and suffocate. My urgency shows on my face.

"I'm just glad to hear the sound of your voice again," I continue as calmly as I can. "I missed you ... so, _so_ much."

Peeta swallows dryly, trying to slow his panic. He keeps his eyes on me. I shush him and keep stroking his face. Finally, his breathing returns to what it was before. Then, something changes behind Peeta's eyes. His pupils dilate alarmingly in the bright light. They become glassier.

"Peeta?" I frown. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It's so bright in here. Where's Katniss?" he asks me.

I lean closer, "It's okay. I'm right here. Can't you see me?"

"I'm looking for Katniss." Peeta insists. "Please, tell me which is her room. I promise I'll go back after -"

"Peeta?"

"I just need to see her! Please! It's only a moment, I swear! Her soft olive skin, her hair. Those eyes like a storm -"

Now I understand. Peeta has slipped into a hallucination brought on by his high fever. I imagine he's reliving my return from District 2. He tried to come visit me, possibly escaped his room alone and got caught by Boggs or someone else. Another guard.

I squeeze his hand, "Peeta! It's me."

That glassiness melts away and he smiles at me, whispering my name. His pupils return to normal.

Then he looks off into the distance, "... I couldn't save you."

His eyes close and his hand grows heavier in my grasp. I look to his heart monitor to confirm that he has drifted off to sleep, not died in my arms. I set the mask back over his nose and lips. I stroke the sweaty wavy locks from his steaming forehead.

"He's so fatigued." I say to Prim.

"He has decreased mental awareness." Prim nods, "He's been drifting in and out of consciousness for a while. You know ... since we watched you get shot."

I console Prim as we walk away down the corridor. I had to leave so that the healers could get back to fighting the infection in Peeta's lungs. I had not finished coating his chest with the garlic cream. The whole time I've been recovering, I've been focusing on how my near-assassination had affected Peeta. I had not considered how it would affect my little sister let alone my mother.

It must have been a rude awakening for them. That although I'm out of the Hunger Games, I may never leave the line of fire.

"I'm so sorry that you had to see me get shot." I tell her. "They all reminded me of dad dying. I wanted it all to stop. I wasn't thinking about anyone else. I should've been, I know. I'm sorry -"

Prim shakes her head, "It's not your fault. It was really brave of you to go into the fray like that." She gazes up at me, "I know I'm just thirteen. But I can handle a lot more now, Katniss. You've made me stronger."

I have to hug her and give her a kiss.

* * *

I can't stand watching Peeta suffer and my family is reluctant to watch me torture myself by doing so. Whatever my mother says to reassure me, Peeta is too weak to speak to me after that day. So, I agree to take Annie to my District 12 Victor's Village house so that she can choose a dress from Cinna's wardrobe for her wedding. She's a kind but strange girl, afflicted with a bad case of PTSD.

But underneath that, I can see the girl who Finnick fell so deeply in love with. Together we choose a tuxedo for Finnick from Peeta's house. It will need to be altered because he's much larger than Peeta. But, at least the couple won't be married in the drab District 13 grey uniform. I keep myself busy by helping with the preparations.

The wedding is not just to celebrate Finnick's union with Annie. It's also an opportunity for more Propo filming. Peeta has been sick for four days. I come by every day to check if he's awake to talk to me. But, every time I am disappointed.

Keeping busy is the only way to keep my mind off him. I'm in one of these states of concentration in my room when I hear my name being called. I turn to see my mother breathless in the doorway.

"Come quickly, it's Peeta." She gestures at the hallway.

I follow her at almost a run, "What's happening?"

"It's a pleural effusion. Too much fluid around his lungs." explains my mother. "He's asking for you."

"He's awake?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Is this serious?"

"Not if we get to work right away. He's too scared to let anyone get near him. I suggested I get you."

I run ahead of my mother and get inside Peeta's hospital room before her. His bed sheet is piled in a heap on the floor. His medical team is disheveled and wear looks of impatience. Peeta is curled up on his side, his fists set to strike anyone who dares to come near.

"Peeta!" I call to him.

His bloodshot eyes find me and I can that my presence relaxes him almost instantly.

"Katniss?" he pants breathlessly.

I close the distance between us while my mother arrives behind me. As he uncoils his body, Peeta strains his face. He grits his teeth and groans in agony. His breathing is shallow again and he keeps his hands against his ribs. I help him onto his back.

"What's happening?" He asks me.

I repeat what my mother told me and add, "It won't get serious if you let them do their job."

We stare into each other's eyes for a long moment. Eventually, Peeta nods. A healer approaches Peeta and he just looks at her. Confident that she won't get hit now with me here, she listens with a stethoscope against his ribs. Another healer taps him on the chest.

"Has the x-ray been taken?" My mother asks them.

One healer nods, "It's a complicated pleural effusion. If we don't drain the fluid now, it will harden into a ring around his lungs and cause permanent breathing difficulties."

My mother nods back and turns to Peeta, "Alright, Peeta. We're going to do a tube thoracotomy. I'll be making a small incision in the chest wall and insert a plastic tube. The tube will be attached to a suction for a few days."

I grit my teeth, closing my eyes for a moment. I let my lips tremble a few waves. Then I push away my uneasiness with sick people to be there for Peeta. The healers and my mother retrieve the equipment while I try to soothe Peeta. I coax him into taking sips from his special tea.

I stroke his hair back over and over again, planting a lingering kiss on his lips. They're not as hot as they were a few days ago. My mother returns to his bedside with a scalpel .

"Are you ready, Peeta?" I ask.

Peeta manages to grin for me, " _Now_ I am."

He lets the healers sit him on the side of the bed, his legs dangling over. My mother nods from his hands to me. I take his clammy hands and kneel before him.

"Just keep your eyes fixed on me, okay?" I ask him gently.

Peeta nods, pursing his lips. My mother makes the incision quickly enough but Peeta lets out a hiss from behind his gritted teeth. I stroke his hands with my thumb. They insert the tube.

"Katniss, it hurts!" He whimpers.

He coughs hoarsely, tears gliding down his sweaty face.

"It'll make you feel better." I promise, shushing him. "It just has to be done, honey."

It's the first time I've called Peeta that pet-name with sincerity. It's a nice thing to call one's lover. I heard my parents call each other by that sentiment when I was young. I had called him 'honey' several times while we were trying to convince the Districts and the Capitol of our love story. I stand up and Peeta rests his forehead just below my clavicles, leaning into me.

I stroke the waves of his hair, easing my breathing so that his head doesn't bounce up and down too quickly. I cradle his head there and turn to my mother. She nods and I tell Peeta that its over.

"Does this mean that the pneumonia is getting worse?" I ask her.

She shakes her head, "His fever has gone down a few degrees. We'll keep the tube in for a few days. It should suck out most of the infection. I'm confident that this is his last complication."

My old self would suspect she's lying for my benefit. But, she's becoming a good liar so I can't tell. My only choice is to hope that she's right. Peeta turns his head, his ear over my heart.

"You did so well," I compliment him.

He croaks to his healers, "I'm sorry that I went crazy."

"You're not crazy!" I tell him seriously. "You were just ... _confused_. Startled. No wonder after what you've been through."

Peeta lays back in his bed and I tuck him in a new clean sheet. Most of the healers and my mother leave. The healers act like they couldn't leave fast enough. I have a feeling that the head doctor is starting to trust me again because there's no guard outside Peeta's door.

"I wish I could be your date to Finnick's wedding." Peeta says.

I take a seat at the foot of his bed. Like old times.

I shrug, "It's the week after the next. Don't count yourself out so soon."

Peeta yawns and shakes his head, "How can you be so hopeful?"

"I blame you." I chuckle.

He scoffs, "Well, I think I can trust Gale to take you-"

"Shut-up." I shake my head, narrowing my eyes down at him.

I share with him how Gale and I are not getting along as well as we used to. I tell him about the dining hall being decorated. I'm not as good at describing things as he is. But I think I do a good enough job. Soon its apparent that the ordeal has exhausted him. I sing to him till he falls asleep.

* * *

On Finnick and Annie's 'big day', every one of the 300 guests wears their everyday uniforms. But the decorations are made of autumn foliage. There is a choir made up of children and a man playing a fiddle. Conducted by Dalton, Finnick marries his one true love. In spite of my heartbreak for Peeta, my smile is genuine at this wedding.

Cressida and the insects linger their cameras on the newlyweds and me. The dancing is so much fun. Then came the wedding cake, wheeled out by four people. The icing is perfectly sculpted and colored to depict crashing waves. There are fish and seals painted swimming along beneath sailboats and past sea flowers. I know of only one person in District 13 whose capable of such artistry.

"Who decorated it?" I ask, not daring to assume.

"I did." comes a voice I would know anywhere.

I nearly drop my cup of apple cider. Peeta is standing across from me, beaming. This is the first time I've seen him out of his hospital gown. He's wearing grey pants and a grey shirt identical to the rest of us. Its jarring to see him out of his hospital gown and his feeding tube is gone!

He still looks too thin but a great deal better than he did when he was rescued. I wonder if I'm starting to see things after watching Finnick and Annie's nuptials.

Johanna pinches my elbow, "Go on, brainless."

Now I know that I'm not dreaming. I run up to him, grey eyes wide with surprise and confusion.

"When did you get here? How? Should -?" my words are tumbling out of my mouth. "I can't believe it!"

Recklessly, I throw my arms about his neck and burry my face in the curve there. His skin smells of soap and it's just the right temperature. His fever is gone!

"Go easy on me." Peeta chuckles rustily. "I'm still a little under the weather."

I back off instantly, "Oh, sorry. Then why have you come?"

"I couldn't let a bad case of the coughs keep me from Finnick's wedding!" Peeta grins.

I'm convinced that Peeta puppy-dog-eyed his head doctor into letting him out. Maybe as his death wish. I now sense that this energy he's outputting is fabricated. I see through the facade the fatigue behind his eyes. He's here to make my night.

" _Peeta_ -" I begin carefully.

Peeta held up a finger, gazing over my head, "Hear that? The music's starting again." He offers me his hand. "May I have this dance?"

I'm out of excuses, "A slow one."

I take his hand and follow him to the center of the dance floor where Finnick and Annie are still dancing together. He takes one of my hands and I place the remaining one on his shoulder. I enjoy the feel of his free hand on my lower back, just above my rear. He leads us around the dance floor. I think I might cry from happiness.

"I met the goal, Katniss." He tells me. "I'm one-thirty-five now. The healers say that I can move out of the hospital soon. When they can take a sonogram of my lungs."

I beam at him, "Oh, Peeta. You're going to make me cry."

Peeta laughs, "For a good reason, I hope?"

I nod, resting my ear over his heart. I tell him that I love him and he tells me that he loves me. Finnick jokes that we're stealing the spotlight from him and Annie. We ignore the cameras honed in on us. I can't wait to see him free of the hospital. I don't know if he can join Johanna and I in training.

But, I'll be damned if I go hunt down Snow without Peeta.

* * *

 **Writer's Note:** _I apologize for the delay in updating this fic. I hope you all enjoyed it! Time-wise, we're in chapter 16 of Mockingjay._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six **

I circle the sponge gently round my shoulder, bruised from training. Sitting in the tub with my sopping hair down my back, my mind was far away from the troubles my body brought me. Peeta will be assigned his new living quarters tomorrow. He could still use some extra pounds in my opinion, though he's no longer emaciated.

Not quite the stocky, muscular build I knew him for. Still has jutting cheekbones and sharp jaw line. But he is no longer skeletal at long last. Slender. The nightmarish weeks of being hooked to a feeding machine were over.

He has defeated the infection which caused pneumonia and he is no longer required to be under 24/7 medical surveillance. I wonder what that means for us. Our time together has been so limited till now, everything being on a schedule.

If only we had not been caught in the Butterfly Room. I carefully avoid rupturing the blisters I've developed on my feet while I scrub them clean. I need new shoes for running. My old hunting shoes would have fallen to pieces by now. I still don't know if Peeta will join me in training.

I haven't told him that I'll be going to the Capitol or even that I moved out of my family's compartment to room with Johanna. Old habits die hard. Somehow, I doubt he'll be fit for combat. Even if he does not qualify, at least he'll finally be able to spend time outdoors. Mascara runs down my cheeks, but I am certainly not crying.

I have Peeta, Gale, my sister, and our mother. Even Haymitch and my prep team on top of everything. Snow has no one to torture me with now. Effie is too pro-Capitol to be suspected of treason. He must know that my determination to see all his blood pour from his mouth has mounted tenfold, knowing what he had done to Peeta.

To me. To my country. It's eleven o'clock before I climb out of the tub into the frigid washroom air, gasping. I wrap a towel around my torso and twist the water from my long hair. I braid it down my back as I leave the bathroom.

"You look different." Johanna comments knowingly from her bed.

She does not bathe like she used to. She was tortured with water in the Capitol. So, I have the bathtub all to myself.

I shrug, "I don't know what you mean."

I pat myself dry and use that towel to wrap my hair with. I change into my white nightgown. It's an ankle-length shapeless dress with long sleeves and buttons up between my breasts. Standard-issue, unisex pajamas for District 13.

Johanna continues, "Peeta's leaving the hospital. You must feel happy."

" _Relieved._ " I counter. "I'm way too jaded to let myself feel _happy_."

Also, I am sore. With my rib injury, I find it hard to keep up with the worst-off in training.

"Well, don't stop humming on my account." Johanna scoffed then added flatly, "You're actually good."

I wasn't aware that I had been humming. I must squash this happiness before it can hurt me. I climb into my bed. I'm too anxious to see Peeta at breakfast tomorrow. My brain refuses to shut down.

It takes a long while for my eyes to grow heavy. In fact, by morning I wonder if they ever did. But like trying to cradle water with my hands, I catch glimpses of a dream I had. Sharing a bed with Peeta. I stroke the bed cover and grip it, imagining his heat radiating onto me.

Cuddling together under these blankets. Cressida had pointed out the probability of that happening to me before I considered it myself. She asked my permission - though she did not need it - to film us candidly. Not in bed, of course. Being confident that we'll never be parted again.

It only later occurs to me now that my mother may object. I never asked how she felt about Peeta. I'm sure she sees him as a victim of the Capitol as much as we all have been. I would assume that part of her resents him, because I was shackled to his mouth whether I liked it or not. But now that I do know that I love him ... It makes sense that I never asked her.

Our relationship has improved a lot but we don't exactly talk about our feelings. I guess I'm still resentful, distrusting. Anyway, I'm awake before the clock strikes six. I change into my daytime uniform and take some time re-braiding my hair in the bathroom. I rinse my face and bite my lips together.

There's not much a Victor can do to look presentable in District 13. Johanna mocks what she considers to be a futile attempt to pretty up for Peeta. I threaten to leave without her to get her to shut-up. For the time being, I'm her guide around District 13. I drop her off at the Cafeteria and head to the hospital to pick up Peeta.

While I wait for him, his doctor has a private word with me.

"I know I don't have to say anything." says the doctor. "But, keep an eye on him for us. Cases like his can still be two steps forward, one step back. Unlike Johanna, he does not have someone to share a compartment with."

I fight not to blush as the implication behind what must be a casual remark on his part.

"He'll be fine." I tell him. "Peeta can take care of himself. He's a survivor."

When I see Peeta, I notice he's taking his pad of paper and pen. I'm pleased to know that they were not confiscated. Still, he stores them in an old pillowcase. He thanks his medical team and promises to not let their hard work be for nothing.

* * *

When I enter his compartment later that day, I see that Peeta's in his washroom judging by the light glowing around the doorframe. I push it open and find his blue eyes wide in the reflection of the mirror. He has his shirt rolled above his nipples, analyzing his ribs in his reflection. He rolls it back down at my intrusion.

"I didn't know you could come in." Peeta says, looking scared. "I thought you'd need a code or something."

"No." I answer. "The locks are controlled by someone else in District 13. Maybe the hospital has their own set. And Coin. But, we're just regular people."

Peeta clears his throat and eventually says, without looking at me, "... Oh."

It's plain to see that gives him quiet. I walk up behind him while he's arranging his cosmetics on the sink. No blades for shaving, only an electric shaver. A bar of soap still wrapped in plastic. I notice that there is a squat cylinder plastic tube labeled _Wipe Bath Tissues_.

I think I've seen them in the hospital before. I glance out of the corner of my eye at the bath tub with the toilet set next to it. I touch Peeta's back and trail my fingers to his front, embracing him from behind. I can feel his heartbeat.

"He can't touch you here." I whisper.

Peeta sighs, "Only you can."

I'm not sure what he means by that. I catch his eye in the reflection.

"Were you going to leave me without saying 'goodbye'?" Peeta asks.

I frown, "Peeta -?"

"When you were keeping District 2 a secret from me." he clarifies. "Were you going to sneak off without telling me? That I wouldn't find out?"

Peeta turns and my arms drop back to my sides.

My frown deepens, "No. I was waiting for the right moment."

"No more secrets." Peeta states. "I'll go first. Boggs tells me that I am not fit for battle."

"I know." I say, agreeing with Boggs. "Your leg. And you've lost a lot of muscle -"

"But, he says that I can join the training sessions. Like you and Gale. Johanna and Finnick."

Peeta is no match for Gale. I don't need him competing with a man who has been in training for months. Whereas he has been almost entirely bedridden since he was rescued and tortured in the intervening time before that and our second Games.

"You're far worse off than the three of us." I remind him, crossing my arms, "And departure is three weeks away. If the Assessment Board doesn't -"

"Do you _want_ me to stay behind?!" He asks, hurt.

I narrow my eyes, frowning, and gape up at Peeta. What am I supposed to say to that? That I can't bear being parted from him again? That we're stronger together? Something sappy like that?

I'm withering beneath his pain.

"No! I want you by my side! You _know_ that!" I assure him vehemently. "But I don't want you to die because ... because you can't carry a gun or something." I finish lamely.

 _I don't want you to die because of me_. Maybe we wouldn't have to wait till reaching the Capitol. Could he have a heart attack running the track, lifting weights, in combat drills? I glance away, imaging him lying lifelessly on a matt. I just got him back.

"They took my family away from me, Katniss." Peeta says darkly, glaring somewhere I am not. "My friends. My home."

He pulls his shirt up over his head, unveiling his scars. Most were long and slender white ridges across his pale skin, telltale wiping marks. Others were lumpy, circular burns. He was still so pale. I run my finger along one, feeling my fingertip burn.

"It's time that Snow was at the wrong end of a weapon." I finally say.

Peeta nods, "The President may have just created the worst Mutts in Hunger Games history. And he doesn't even realize it."

* * *

And so Peeta was following behind me to the track at 7:30 a.m.. As usual, we first jog around the trail with guns. If they are heavy to start with, they're like lead by the end of the exercise. Gale is among the first to finish in his accelerated phase of training group. He barely breaks a sweat.

He is in the best shape he has ever been in his life. I hope Peeta is not comparing himself to Gale. But I catch him watching Gale follow his group back inside. In my group of fourteen to fifteen year olds, I trail behind to encourage Peeta.

"Doesn't look like physical therapy did much for you, huh?" I ask him.

We're barely jogging and I can see Soldier York eyeing us from far away. Doubting Peeta's fitness like me.

Peeta pants back breathlessly, "That was just so my muscles wouldn't completely atrophy and to prevent bed sores, Katniss."

I sympathize with him, "Rest if you need to -!"

"The last thing ... I need ... is _rest_!" He says with a steadier voice.

He demonstrated to me the definition of 'willpower'. I watch his jutting cheekbones flush and his snowy skin sheen with sweat. He grits his teeth, that muscle in his jaw pulsing. His shirt sticks to his body like paper mache. He's moaning with agony but still he keeps going.

I'm no longer slowing down for him.

But once we cross the finish point, Peeta drops his gun and vomits. The rest of our group cringes, then a few clap. Johanna watches him in an odd way, like she's suddenly far away. Likely, she's heard the sound of him puking while they were held captive. Peeta almost drops to his knees but I catch him.

"Katniss!" He gasps, wiping his lips with the curve of his hand.

I press down on his lower back, "Sit down. Sit down, Peeta. You shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard -"

"Good work, Soldier Mellark." says Soldier York approvingly. "Alright, troop. Stretch and meet me inside the gym."

Peeta manages to straighten himself up and he makes a shaky attempt at a salute. He pushes himself through the stretches and barely has the breath left in him for the strengthening exercises that follow. I can't help but recall when he could throw weights around the gym during our first Games. Intimidating the Careers and me, to be honest. Fist to fist combat was never my forte.

Now, however, I look like a professional next to Peeta but I don't say it. Johanna does. Her insults may be inspirational to me, but they diminish his spirit. He is ordered by our trainer, Soldier York, to sit out the five-mile run. With reluctance, I take off alongside Johanna without him.

Leaving him sagging on the ground at Soldier York's feet. I want us to kill Snow together. But, part of me does want to keep him here where he's out of harm's way. Perhaps today will be the dose of reality we both need to see sense.

"I'm not giving up." Peeta assures me at lunch.

Both of our statuses have been updated to Military. Therefore, our caloric intakes have changed. A nutty bread and cheese sandwich, roasted beef, a cup of cubed fruits with nuts, and a cup of milk to wash it all down. This was a hearty jump from my previous lunches of just one or the other.

I give him a smile, "It was only your first day, Peeta. I bailed out after the first mile on mine." I pick a cube of fruit, "You know, you really impressed me today."

Peeta smiled, "I vomited gloriously, huh?"

I narrow my eyes at him good-naturedly, "After everything you've been through. So much pain. You fought through it."

Peeta won't take the credit, "I've had a lot of inspiration."

I glance down for a moment and before I can look back up, he kisses me. With renewed determination, he joins me for the afternoon training session. We ignore the stares from the rest of our group. Now, I have to help both Johanna _and_ Peeta. First off, I teach Peeta how to assemble a gun and help Johanna with parts she can't keep herself still long enough to fit.

We all ignore Cressida and her film crew. Surely they'll edit out me helping my friends cheat as that is a serious offence. If they want all the living Victors in combat, they'll have no other choice. Then we're all off to the shooting range. After dinner that day (beef and vegetable stew over pasta with cheese and water), the Victors and I are summoned to Production to watch a new propo.

It's mainly of the Victors training. This was a very polished version of the day. No Peeta retching up his breakfast. As hoped, none of my cheating indiscretions. Together we watch Peeta surge on the track with his gun swinging in his grasp.

The propo concludes with Peeta hoisting a dumbbell high over his head from our second Games, triumphant music cheering him on. The last clip is of Peeta clenching his jaw, making the muscle flex there again.

 **... BE READY ...**

Peeta turns to Cressida, "You made me look almost like a real soldier."

Cressida claps him on the shoulder, "Thank you, but I can't take the credit."

She gives him a small bow to which Finnick claps heartily, "Way to go, Peeta!"

Peeta glows at the support from the fellow Victors. Johanna punches him lightly in the shoulder. I am just amazed that Peeta's still standing. He's clearly exhausted but touched by their compliments.

"Now I only have to do it all over again." He chuckles woefully.

Johanna tilts her head, "And again. And again -"

I frown at her and take Peeta by the hand, "Thank you all again. But we need our rest."

We walk dirty hand in dirty hand back to his assigned living quarters. He has a limp to his gate. His thigh must be sore from running on his prosthetic leg.

"Did you get enough to eat?" I ask him.

Peeta nods, "They warned me that eating normally after the feeding tube wouldn't be pleasant. To be honest, I don't feel much like eating anything at all. So I force it all down. Anything to avoid those nasty supplemental shakes."

I understand that Peeta wants to return to normalcy. I've known that for a while and wanted that for him. That's why I brought him all the paper and that pen so that he could at least draw.

"As long as they approve, I guess I shouldn't be worried."

He gazes down at me, "But you will anyway. You're a worry wart."

I resist shoving him, "Takes one to know one."

"Sleep well, Peeta." I say in farewell.

Peeta replies, "I remember your room number. If I get scared, I'll -"

"You won't." I assure him.

"What if you miss me?" He grins drowsily. "I know I will miss you."

I narrow one eye, "I think you'll survive one night."

We chuckle and go quiet when a group of people pass us by. We press our lips together till we're alone again. His lip feel so warm and soft stroking mine. We grow closer and closer till we're in each other's arms. I don't remember when I stepped over his threshold nor the door closing me inside with him.

We dig our noses into each other's cheeks. He has one hand at my waist and the other cupping the back of my head. I feel at his stomach, which is slightly but delightfully distended with his plentiful supper. It makes me smile against his lips.

Peeta's calf, metal and flesh, make contact with the foot of his bed and he sinks down. I'm now standing between his legs and we do not stop kissing. Suddenly, I find my fingers are unbuttoning down his grey flannel shirt. He only stops stroking me to wriggle out of it. I finally catch my breath.

Something catches my eye on the bedspread. It's one of his drawings, this one depicting his family bakery. He posed his brothers and parents on the porch looking distinctly happier than I've imagined. With care I pick it up to examine it closer.

"How do you do this?" I ask, amazed. "It's almost like a photograph."

His hands are so talented and his heart so big. No wonder I fit so well inside it. He watches me prop it by his bedside lamp. How I feel about his abusive mother is irrelevant. Peeta would not have included her if he did not feel distinctly differently about her.

Peeta grins, "I taught myself. I assure you it didn't happen overnight. My first was a snowman. It was so terrible." He laughs. "Just a stack of three misshapen circles."

"I'm sure it was cute." I smirk, returning to stand before him, "So, where were we ... Soldier Mellark?"

"How about you remind me, Soldier Everdeen?"

We laugh and resume kissing. He scoots further back and I climb into his lap, each leg folded on either side of his waist. It occurs to me that I am roughly twenty pounds lighter than him now.

"Are you comfortable?" I ask him. "I can move -"

"Don't you dare move." He whispers back, grinning.

That makes me smile. Our breaths are taken deep and easy but my heart is pounding. I feel that stirring sensation within me, just like I had on that artificial shore the Capitol called a beach. Gazing at him, I lean back and begin to unbutton my shirt. Then Peeta stops me.

"Are you sure?" he asks. "In District 13? I want this to be perfect for you. At home -"

I take his hands in mine, "Peeta, I have a new home now."

I touch the spot over his heart then I take his hand again ... bringing it up towards my breast. This is something I have not allowed Gale to do. Then came the knock at his door.

"Peeta?" came my mother's voice. "I'm looking for Katniss. It's almost curfew."

I growl and Peeta sighs, "I think I can guarantee I won't be having any nightmares tonight, Katniss."

Unwillingly, I dismount his lap, "I'm coming, mom."

Peeta pulls his shirt back on and I forget to button mine back up to my neck. It's only a couple of buttons, but my mother notices right away. I watch her eyes glance from mine down to those empty slots. She can't even see my cleavage. Even though she does not say anything about it, it's clear that she assumes she had just interrupted something far from innocent.

And it makes me feel vindictively good. A rebel I have become at last.

* * *

 **Writer's Note** : I was hoping I would get this fic done before the final movie released. But, I'm sure many of us will ship Everlark for the rest of our lives. Book-wise, we're in Chapter 17 of Mockingjay.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven **

I can't think about what may have happened had my mother not interrupted Peeta and I. All I can think about now is that Peeta will be spending the night entirely alone. This will be the first time since he was rescued. At this realization, I cross my arms and chew at my fingernails. All vindication evaporating with the chill brought on by dread.

Surely the medical team prepped him for this eventuality. As usual, my pessimism gets the better of me as grim scenarios flood into my mind. My mother departs at my room with Joanna. I'm not aware of the conversation we carried on this short walk or if we even talked at all. I find my roommate exiting our washroom.

"Seal the deal yet, princess?" she asks me with a yawn.

I avert my gaze. Not out of shame, but I get the feeling that she has had more experience than I have. I'm still too worried about Peeta to blush at the subject matter. I don't want to discuss it with anyone, especially her.

"How can you resist those blue doe eyes-?" she teases.

"We were only alone for ten minutes. At the most." I cut her off.

"Ten minutes is _plenty_ , Katniss." Chortles Johanna, raising a brow. "Don't you _want_ to? He's almost handsome again. He'll grow those sexy muscles back in no time. If you _don't_ , I'll have to do myself and that poor boy a favor – "

I roll my eyes, scoffing under my breath. I shut the washroom door behind me after gathering my nightgown. Johanna and I are as close to friends as we'll ever be. Even if we are not, this teasing hardly gives me misgivings. Perhaps it would, in another world.

Peeta might have a type for abrasive women. I brush my hair, scrub my body, wash my face, and change my clothes. I pace in the washroom, waiting till Johanna might fall asleep. I really do not want to hear confirmation of what kind of 'favor' she meant. I flex my body and try to shake off the mental images of Peeta purging himself in the toilet or screaming awake from a flashback.

I reassure myself that I'll know in less than eight hours how his first night went. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I exit the washroom and march straight to my bed. I lie beneath the comforter like a corpse, starring at the inside of my eyelids.

Johanna rolls over to face me and her voice is softer, "Maybe you resisted because you think there will be a better venue in the future? That we'll ever get out of this hell hole?"

I don't answer her out of self-respect, but mostly because I don't have a snarky reply.

"I hope that confidence rubs off on me." She sighs, yawning and turning her back on me.

I glance at her. She has a point: my opportunities with Peeta are numbered. If we pass our tests, we'll be flying to the Capitol in a matter of weeks. We are being trained into the ground for most of the day and working with the Insects in between. Anxiety fills my throat, making me too nauseous to sleep. Unbidden, nightmares worm their way into my subconscious.

 _I'm back in that pitch black room. I'm about to work myself awake when an overhead spotlight nearly blinds me. As my eyes adjust, I see that Peeta is standing beneath it._

" _Peeta?"_ _I whisper and run to him._

 _He's standing ridged, his face tilted down and starring with his eyes wide. I observe him. He's wearing the clothes he was first Reaped in._

" _Peeta -?"_

" _I'm hungry, Katniss."_ _He says weakly._ _"I'm hungry."_

 _I gaze around and suddenly there's a buffet table lined with decadent food to our right. I pick out the dish nearest to me and present it to him. Abruptly, he loses at least ten pounds. His skin tightens over his bones with each plate I present to him. He repeats with increased desperation about how hungry he is. His eyes finally snap up to meet mine. They're glazed over in milky white, his face is nothing but skin and bones. His complexion is waxy and his sunken eye sockets bruised._

" _You're too late, Katniss."_ _President Snow's voice hisses from Peeta's mouth._

 _I stagger backwards. Peeta lifts his lip in a snarl and he dips his chin, clouding his face in darkness. All I can see are his blue eyes flashing beneath his furrowed brow. Like two moons blanketed in smoke. His teeth are like wolves. With a raspy growl, he lunges for my throat._

I awaken panting before his cold boney fingers touch me. I roll my eyes and wipe my hairline. I peak my head out from beneath the covers. My heart is still hammering and I can smell my own sweat. Even without Buttercup's window, I can tell that I have overslept - Johanna has already gone.

Our clock says that I have ten minutes to get to breakfast. I force my sore body out of bed to change into those unisex coveralls. I run my fingers through my hair instead of a brush and jump around while pulling on my shoes. I'm anxious to find out if Peeta succeeded in spending his first night alone in months. I find him sitting at the table with my mother and Prim.

Peeta stands when our eyes meet, unsteady on his prosthetic leg. I rush over to him and we hug. I absorb a lot of information from our embrace. His lips smell like peppermint, his hair feels clean, and his skin is pale but not sickly. More like creamy butter. He seems to be standing taller than usual.

I kiss him without greeting and this takes him by surprise.

"Well, good morning to you, too!" He chuckles.

"How are you feeling?" I ask. "Are you okay?"

"Come on, Katniss." He placates me.

"No. Seriously." I insist. "How are you feeling?"

"A little hungry." Peeta shrugs, then gives me a sly smile and kisses me again.

I don't care who may be watching. For all I know, Cressida and the Insects are capturing this romantic embrace on camera for all of Panem to be inspired by. I close my eyes. This time, I can focus on the taste of his mouth. Soft, warm … it's minty like the toothpaste. Too minty, as though he had been brushing feverishly just before we met now.

I have misgivings that he's not over-brushing for my _benefit_ but to hide something. However, I choose not to question him about it in case I'm wrong. Peeta does love me. Maybe I should have brushed my teeth after _I_ woke up. I set the suspicion aside and take a seat opposite him, sitting beside mother while Prim sat beside Peeta.

I'm determined not to meet mother's gaze. I wonder if Peeta is also fantasizing what may have happened between us if she had not come looking for me. Rolled oats with dried fruit and nuts are on the breakfast menu for us soldiers today, along with a side of condensed milk.

I flood my bowl with it while Peeta keeps them separate. Prim talks to mother about her nursing duties while Peeta and I listen idly. When I glance at him, he speaks softly.

"How did you sleep?" He asks me after taking such a casual bite of breakfast no one would know eating once scared him into starvation.

And here I am, bracing myself for the relapse.

"Fine." I shrug.

"Oh, _really_?" Peeta chuckles quietly, "'Took me some time to doze off."

He's looking at me with such a soft expression. I think he looks tired, his complexion dry. His face could still do with more filling-out. I could carve ice with that jawline.

"Didn't the doctors give you any sleeping medication?" I ask. "Pills, syrup ... _anything_?"

He laughs again, "I don't think the whole bottle could've pulled me under." He mouths, "I was thinking about you."

Thanks for clueing me in _now_ , Peeta! I gulp and my cheeks flush. What is wrong with me?

"You thought it was something medical?" he teases.

I lightly kick him, "Still may be."

I sigh when he cups my knee with his hand and rubs me with his thumb.

Peeta says, "Katniss, I've been discharged. I'm not going to relapse. You don't have to worry about me anymore."

If mother and Prim hear our words, they have the decency to keep to their own conversation. Prim gives me a little smile but sticks to discussing her coursework.

"That's what you and I do." I remind Peeta.

I notice that he has finished his cereal and is moving on to his crackers with jam. Still working on his condensed milk, but this backs up his words.

* * *

 **Writer's Note:** I'm sorry that this was half the length of the previous chapter. I have been working on this chapter ever since the previous was published but it kept getting put to the side because the real world keeps butting in. I hope that I'll get to finish this fic.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

 **PEETA FLASHBACK**

In the fog stood the silhouette of a petite, womanly figure over Peeta. Her almond-shaped eyes matched the blue-grey mist perfectly, a stunning compliment to her olive brown skin and braided black hair. Like a crystal pool in a wood, a mint and chocolate delicacy he'd kill to taste. Katniss stretched her hand out for Peeta's and the fog rapidly sucked away. Her high cheekbones and full plum lips became crystal clear.

"I'll see you at midnight." her voice echoes as if he were lying in a cave.

He watches his own hand rise but he can't lift any other part of his body. Suddenly he's blinded by a bolt of lightning and deafened by the merciless thunder. He screams for her but Katniss is enveloped in the flames. Peeta jerked back to reality, eyes hurting as though really adjusting to the dark after a bright explosion all over again. He was facing his reflection in the expansive ornate bathroom. In the Capitol.

He sighed, "You're in 13. You're safe."

But Peeta knew that Katniss was still being used for this war, just like he is. She never would have kept the rebel plan from him, no matter how much people try to convince him she did. Peeta's greatest regret was that he agreed to separate from her in the Arena.

Peeta exited his bathroom, drying his face with a soft, heated hand towel embellished with the Panem emblem. He gave the mark a prolonged stare, the red makeup that painted his lips for an interview smeared into it. He chucked it in the laundry bin woven with bamboo. He had been separated from Katniss for just a few weeks, but he missed her with a pain as though there were a rip in his heart.

He could hardly eat, let alone _enjoy_ , the decadent Capitol fare anymore. Tonight, he had forced himself to pick at the lamb stew with dried plums he had requested. It was Katniss's favorite dish. There were so many things that Haymitch kept from him and Katniss. Peeta had trusted him with their lives.

Peeta shed his white wool tuxedo. The only shock that was pleasant was District 13 still existed. If they could survive for so long without the support of the Capitol, they should be able to protect Katniss. He sat himself on the edge of the bed, hanging his head.

"I never should have let you go," he whispers for the umpteenth time.

Peeta rolled over onto his front, hugging the pillow with his brawny arms. His abdomen felt as though it were swinging, a nauseous lump swelled in his throat. He supposed it was anxiety eating at him, but that was growing more oversimplified by the minute. Finally, Peeta made his ungainly return to the bathroom. He gags once, just once, and it seemed like every bite he ate launched out his mouth.

His eyes swam with tears as he coughed uncontrollably. He had been sick before in 12, but this was different. Sure, his stomach had hurt but he never so quickly gave in to nausea. His lips trembling and his teeth chattering, Peeta used the countertop to push himself to his feet. Exhausted, but relieved that the pain had passed, he returned to his bed.

He fed himself one peppermint from the bowl on his nightstand. A week passed and, at the end of every other day, he would fall ill just as he had the first time. At least he was able to stay hydrated but Peeta was miserable. There was a soft ringing in his ears whenever he tilted his head on the bad days. Something was very wrong with him but he couldn't inform anyone of what was happening.

No one visited him that whole week. Surely, he was being watched on cameras. Still, no one came to his aid. He did not want to risk the Avoxes' safety by relaying it to them. Even if he did, they couldn't tell anyone.

Finally, two guards came for Peeta. He dressed in khaki trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater. While dressing, he heard the guards gossiping outside his door about him. Quite openly, in fact. But Peeta crouched low by the door anyway, placing his ear as close to the crack as he dared.

"- the Mockingjay strung Mellark along like a dog on a chain. Anyone with eyes could see it was one-sided." Said one of the guards. "She doesn't care enough to sway Coin to stop the fighting. The Mockingjay wants the President dead, sooner rather than later. This one was just a strategy to stay alive in the arenas. Now she's got no one to owe."

"Pathetic sap." Agreed the other guard.

Peeta clenched his jaw and got to his feet. He tried to pass between the guards but they steered him for the exit.

"Weigh-In or Interview?" Peeta asked nonplused.

Usually they ignored his questions and Peeta was accustomed to being treated like a show pony by now.

So he was mildly surprised when one replied, "It's a surprise."

Peeta had modeled for the Capitol in his Hunger Games career. But this room was empty of his glamor team. There was not even a backdrop. Just a camera on a high tripod in the middle of the room.

"Take off your clothes and wait." Instructed the guard, shutting Peeta in the room.

This room was terribly cold so Peeta chose to inspect the camera instead, figuring they were late to bring the rack of outfits for the interview. There was an X of masking tape near where the floor met the wall before the camera. Peeta jolted when the door opened again and the photographer flanked with heavyset guards entered the room. Peeta felt cornered and claustrophobic. His stomach churned and he took this opportunity to tell someone, anyone, about his ailment.

"I haven't been able to keep anything down for nearly a week now. I think I'm coming down with a flu. Is there anything I can take for it?"

His question fell on deaf ears. The team went about their duties as if he was not even there. Peeta's head was swimming. He believed he had become invisible. He raised his voice to be sure they'd at least hear him.

"The Capitol had medication that closed my leg wound in my first Games. Surely, they have something in stock for the common flu." Peeta continued.

Now they see him.

"Disobeying orders from your superiors?" Asked the guard who appeared to be the leader.

Peeta raised a brow and indicated the empty room, "There's nothing for me to change in to."

"Undress." Said the same guard.

"Where's the outfit that I'm supposed to model?" Peeta asked, trying to be polite.

"Undress."

Peeta frowned now, his voice lowering, "… What's going on?"

"You weren't shy about it in your first Games." Pointed out another guard.

Peeta would never forget Katniss undressing him at the riverside in their first Games. Now Snow wanted naked photographs of him. He had never felt more grateful that he was in the Capitol and not Katniss.

"I was bleeding out. Dying." Peeta replied sourly. "I'm not undressing."

Those three words were a mistake. All five guards pounced on Peeta and he struggled hard as they ripped everything but his underwear off. The photographer focused entirely on her camera. Bruised and shaken, the guards easily positioned Peeta on the X and threatened him with more violence if he did not obey. Peeta stared down the barrel of the lens.

People monitored his every move on security cameras in his penthouse. These people didn't care that he was very obviously ill. With the flash of the camera, it came to Peeta: Snow was poisoning him.

* * *

 **PRESENT DAY**

At the end of our strengthening exercises, York lines us up for our 'Body Mass Index'. Almost no one back home was overweight, but this was never a pleasant experience in P.E. class. To be compared to other students just highlighted our low place in District 12 society. The heavier students were wealthier whereas the students like me … it was insulting. However, it was much less high-tech in Twelve.

Here, there is a tall metal rod mounted to the wall with a lockable headpiece. The scale was built into the floor and I think it's usually meant for weighing items going on aircrafts. My surname is before Peeta's in the alphabet so I must go first. I press my heals back to the wall and stand as straight as I can.

York reads aloud, "Five foot three."

I catch Peeta's eye and he smirks, mouthing, "Shorty."

With my inconsistent nutrition back home, I was never destined to be a sky-scraper. I wrinkle my nose at him good-naturedly and side-step onto the scale. York arranges me properly and announces my weight for the whole class to hear. For once, I'm not ashamed.

"One-twenty."

"That's regular, right?" I ask her, quietly.

York shrugged, "Do you feel regular, Everdeen?"

" _Tired_." I correct.

York nods dismissively and I can leave for the evening but I wait to hear Peeta's measurements. His face still has sunken spaces to fill, _especially_ in his cheeks. What meager fat he had on him in 12 was drained from him while Snow's captive and his muscles are struggling to catch up with Gale. That is impossible in such a short space of time. Gale looks huge now, a muscular beast. He's definitely past six feet in height now and could easily tip the scales at 200 pounds of muscle.

Peeta may be ready set in his mind about going to fight the Capitol. But I need to hear for myself that he is in physical condition for it. Finally, York reached the surnames beginning with an M.

"I don't have all night, Mellark." Said York.

Peeta takes a deep breath and steps up to the machines.

"Five-foot-nine."

I gaze down at my fingers, toying with my nails. I dread what his weight is going to be. I remember vividly that nice doctor saying that Peeta _should_ be between 144 and 176 pounds. My brows furrow, hoping that last night's attack did not set him back. Or is that exactly what I want? For him to stay here?

"One-Forty-Seven." Came York's voice.

I sigh, there's no medical reason to keep Peeta in 13. But, at least he's healthy. I smile for him when he reaches me at the door. When he speaks, his voice sounds brittle and rather husky. I've heard him sound this way after nights of reliving nightmares.

"What a training session!" he gasps. "I can't feel my arms."

"I can't feel _anything_." I laugh.

He squeezes by hand and kisses my head, taking a good draw of my hair's beeswax-soap scent.

Peeta leans on the railing, gazing up and down, "Look at this place. It's incredible."

"Couldn't use a dab of paint?" I joke, joining him.

He nods, "Maybe some green."

I grin, it's my favorite color and he remembers. He remembers more about me than I do about myself. I touch his arm and for the first time in too long I feel some hardness beneath. _Muscle_. I spot Johanna approaching us. She's wringing her fingers, hunching her shoulders, and avoiding every passerby's eyes. Peeta follows my gaze and reads Johanna like an open book.

"Johanna, what's wrong?" he asks softly.

I follow Peeta over to Johanna, who swallows hard as she stops in her tracks.

"Beetee hacked the Capitol's online records and photos are circulating of the Victors." Johanna explains in a breaking voice. "To all of the Districts."

My mind goes straight to the worst possible scenario. I remember that Finnick was forced into being a sex slave for the Capitol's elite. Was Johanna also forced? But Beetee would _never_ release photos like that, even if it would make the Districts hate the Capitol more.

No … never ….

I frown, glancing between her and Peeta, "What _kind_ of photos?"

Johanna mocks flippantly, "Oh, just from a few months ago."

Peeta seems to understand something I have yet to grasp. His blue eyes are suddenly distant and dark.

"After our _lovely_ holiday to the beach." Johanna continues.

I try to get Peeta's attention, "Peeta?"

"Yours, too." She concludes in a voice barely above a whisper, talking to Peeta.

Peeta's voice cracks badly when he speaks, "Why would Beetee-?"

"You think _any_ Victor has a say around here? Even Beetee? Well, besides _her_!" She eyes me venomously. "They say it's to enrage our side. To make us more sympathetic. Especially you – some still think you're a traitor."

Peeta takes a step back, almost like his one knee is about to give out.

I grab him by the shoulder, "Peeta, what is she talking about?"

He nods and Johanna darts away.

Peeta turns to me, "There was a photographer. They wanted high-quality photos of what happens to their prisoners, for if they win the war. They took ones of me …."

"Before they started poisoning your food?" I ask.

Peeta shook his head, "Mostly right before the artists prettied me up for an interview with Flickerman. They just did it to humiliate Johanna. They took mine to send to you."

"I never saw any photo of you before they rescued you." I say. "Just when you were dolled up for the interviews. But I could tell they weren't treating you right."

Peeta gulps, "Well, these weren't so pretty."

I observe Peeta chewing his lip, glancing around at the many faces passing us. He gulps dryly and presses a hand over his heart.

"Peeta, don't look at them." I grip both of his hands. "You're doing so well. _Amazing_. I won't let you -"

Peeta's eyes snap onto mine, " _Me_? I don't want _you_ to see them! I lived it. I remember what I looked like. _Still_ look like."

My lip quivers but my eyes grow hard and murderously still.

"You can't let your anger blind you." Peeta tells me. "Besides, I'm back. Alive and kicking."

"You would do the same for me. You know you would."

* * *

The leaked photographs clearly took a toll on Johanna. She was like a cobra ready to strike at anyone who even looked at her the wrong way in her view. She worked with her team in the Capitol and had some measure of control over how much skin she showed. The Capitol took that control from both her and Peeta. I promised Peeta that I would never see the photographs of him out of respect, giving him back every bit of control I can.

When they were shown at supper that night, I embraced him, closing my eyes. The Insects were honed on our every move. The only times were weren't being filmed was when we were parted, which was only at night. But I'm so focused on Peeta that I'm slacking in training today. I'm only brought back to reality when a weight ball bounces into my stomach and knocks me flat on my backside.

"Sorry!" Apologizes a boy slightly larger than Peeta. "I yelled 'fore'."

I wave him off shakily, "I'm fine. Don't worry about it -"

Suddenly, Peeta shoves the young man to the ground. The reaction was so disproportionate. But the way he was poised, he could intimidate men as large as Gale.

"Peeta, no! No! Stop it!" I exclaim, sitting up.

"You hurt her!" He snarls at the boy, raising his fist again.

I shoot to my feet and grip that forearm. I see the fury in his eyes and it takes me aback a moment. His hands drop to his sides. The boy comes away from the fall with a scraped elbow and palms.

"I'm sorry," I tell the boy and then lead Peeta off the mat. "He didn't hit me on purpose." I glance warily at Commander York. "If you attack another person, she might not let you in training anymore. You can't overreact." Peeta still looks determined. "And you won't come with us to the Capitol."

His expression changes coldly, "Let them try." He looks at me, "All those nights I laid awake in my hospital bed, thinking about how my family died. My friends. The people I never knew. My one resolve is to make certain – with my own eyes – that they did not die for nothing."

I lay my hand over his heart and rest my ear on his chest. He closes his eyes and I feel his chin on top of my head. He kisses my hair, I hear it.

"I can't bare to see anyone hurt you." He explains. "It feels good to have something to look after. To protect somebody."

I relate to his overreaction now. Getting back to District 12 for Prim was what drove me to survive in my first Games. If Peeta loves me anywhere near as much as I love my family, or as much as I love him –

"Attention, soldiers." called Commander York.

I drop Peeta's hand and we join the crowd before York.

"Countdown to departure for the Capitol is seven days." She reminds us. "There will be an obstacle course to test your physical condition, a written tactics exam, a test on weapons proficiency, and simulated combat in Block. Use whatever hours you have between here and then to hone your skills. None of the tests can be retaken."

Peeta squeezes my hand. I knew how long we had in 13 down to the hour. I gazed up at him. Was he ready to be thrown back into the fire?


End file.
